This Wonderful Tale of Professor Kirkland and his Current Misfortune!
by Lady-Arsene
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a professor of English literature. He is also the single father of one, not knowing who the mother is in the slightest. Alfred F. Jones is his struggling student. Alfred employs the help of Arthur for this literature class, and just so happens to get mixed in Arthur Kirkland's unfortunate life.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. This is purely the work of one fan's creativity at play. Other than that, please enjoy.**

It would be quite the understatement saying Arthur's life was a total train wreck. A three year old child, with no mother, was thrusted onto him. No doubt this miniscule being was a blood descendent of Arthur here, same eyebrows and hairstyle even. The mother, however, was completely unknown to the Briton. She most have been as equally drunk as Arthur was during this child's conception.

When Arthur received his offspring, his landlord had knocked on his door and forced the squirming bundle of blue into his arms. The landlord had said some lady swung by to dispense of Peter to his father for the weekend. It's been two years, and his mother has yet to reclaim him.

Unfortunately, Arthur had just been hired to be a English literature professor at a university a blocks walk from his loft, and he couldn't afford to miss any of his teaching days. For the first week, Arthur had kept Peter locked up in a play pen, an extensive library of Dora the Explorer looping on the television. He locked his son in the pen with a pillow, his baby blanket, a teddy bear, and unwrapped fruit snacks in a bowl. Yes indeed this could be considered child abuse, though Arthur did come home to check up on Peter on his breaks and plan times. Though, after that disastrous first week, the amiable old landlord decided to babysit little Peter while Arthur was working for his salary, and Arthur didn't voice a single voice of protest.

Life went on after that. Two years managed to slip by without much outcry. Until Alfred F. Jones decided it was a-okay to enroll in Arthur's class.

Despite his bubbly nature and his tendency to never shut his mouth, Alfred was barely holding his own weight in Arthur's class. One unit on Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ over, and Alfred still believed the tragedy was about a squealing farm pig. His essays were complete trash and his homework found itself turned in, not to mentioned wrinkled, one week after its due date. And still, Alfred kept smiling on without much of a care about his academic achievements.

Worst part was, Alfred and Arthur resided inside the same apartment complex.

Arthur discovered this the night he arrived home at seven at dusk. Completely disheveled and wanting nothing more than sleep, Arthur retrieved his son on the first floor of the building, where Alfred was boasting loudly about some party miles from there on the stairs leading up to the second floor. When Arthur reached said stairs, son's hand being held firmly, Alfred and two others were stationed at the top. They spoke about alcoholic beverages, skimpy girls, and especially the party 'favors'. Arthur scowled as he released Peter's hand to instruct the little one to clasp his ears. Once Alfred had noticed his teacher zooming up the stairs, a wide eyed child beside him, he ceased his previous conversation with a subtle, "Hi, teach!"

"Good night, Alfred, be extra careful not to show up to class intoxicated tomorrow."

Even with those words of warning, Alfred had to audacity to arrive at class with a not so secretive hangover.

One week has passed since then, and the unit's test is just around the corner. Alfred desperately needed help. The other students studied on their own, leaving Alfred with one last choice. Professor Kirkland had to, I repeat for the hard of hearing, HAD TO become Alfred's tutor. So, with the straightening of his shirt and seconds to mold together his dignify. Once the class had been dismissed, Alfred reluctantly made his way to Arthur's wooden desk, asking.

"Hey, professor, could ya possibly help me with this Hamlet mumbo-jumbo?"

"Finally come to terms with your impending failure of my class?" Arthur's emerald eyes gazed up at Alfred from his grading.

"Uh... sure?" Alfred replied, slightly taken back by the hostility Arthur was throwing out like road spikes.

Arthur side as he discarded his black frames from his eyes. "I suppose I could help, we inhabit the same building, after all." The teacher tore a corner from his sample essay, the one he was referring to for his grading, and dotted down his room number and floor, as well as the time. "Bring a note book and a writing utensil. It's going to be a long night."

 **AN: I'm not at all a newcomer to the fanfiction writing world, but I still feel these writing jitters when I put out something. This is a clean slate for me, and I'm excited! I'm fully aware this chapter is quite short, though I'd love to hear feedback from the community, so if you wouldn't mind could you lovely readers leave a review to me! Thank you all for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Exactly at four o'clock in the afternoon, Alfred found himself on the third floor of his and Professor Kirkland's shared apartment complex. The American found it crucial that his friends, either it be close or merely acquaintances, never grasped the knowledge of Alfred's tutoring session inside his teacher's lodging. Geez, that would ruin his well protected reputation.

"Who is our titular character? And what is his main goal in this tragedy?" Arthur asked, who was sitting across from Alfred at the dining table. Seeing that his student wasn't paying a lick of attention, Arthur leaned over to snap his bony fingers near Alfred's ear.

Alfred was broken out of his trace before he began to stumble around for an answer. "He's a pig... yeah, a pig named Hamlet! He wants to, uh, save the farm?"

One could see Arthur's erratic eye twitching as he indulged in a minute to counter his urge to strangle his junior. "That's not even... Ugh, you are such a lost cause!" The professor here felt the need to simply stand and escort this idiotic baboon away from his table. That was, until this baboon decided to speak his mind.

"But you're a teacher, dude! You're supposed to help me!"

"By federal law, yes you are correct in your standing. Though when you continuously confuse a Danish prince with a squealing pig, it presents me with the urge to litter your apartment with mouse traps."

"Hey! I'm just a tad bit challenged!" Alfred crossed his arms, similar to a four year old child would do during an argument. Arthur would know that.

Arthur nearly chucked his gifted porcelain tea cup at the dry wall behind Alfred. "A _tad bit_? As your professor, I have the right to say, that you are more than challenged."

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO-"

"Is everythin' okay?" A younger, more high pitched, voice sounded in the quarrel between Alfred and Arthur.

Arthur didn't even bother to turn his gaze over to the owner of that youthful voice. "Yes, everything is quite all right over here, poppet. Sorry we disturbed your nap." He rose from his chair, while Peter absentmindedly nodded his small little head. Arthur returned his cold gaze back to Alfred for a split second. "If you'll excuse me for a moment." The elder Briton strode over to his son, hoisting the yawning thing up into his arms, before disappearing into the second of the bedrooms close by to the kitchen.

After tuning in on a hushed lullaby, Alfred was once more acquainted with sad grumpy Arthur. Alfred blinked thrice before saying. "You never told us on orientation day that you had a little dude with you."

"You, my dear, just don't acquire perception skills. You've met my son once before, if you happen to recall the night before you showed to my class hungover." Arthur reached into his brown leather briefcase, that laid on the table on top of a stack of graded papers.

While Arthur was rummaging about for God knows what, Alfred continued with. "Yeah I kinda remember the little dude-"

He has a name, I'll have you know, it's Peter." Arthur interrupted, momentarily ceasing to push his point.

"Uh, well, yeah Peter. He was with you on the stairs."

"Mhm."

"Poor child. Must be rough for him."

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSE TO MEAN!?" Arthur pushed his briefcase on to the floor, as he appeared like a lioness ready to pounce on his prey.

"Hey, your kid is sleeping!"

After that bizarre argument, these two flustered men only had thirty minutes left in the session. Wrestling his copy of Hamlet from his suitcase, Arthur entrusted it into Alfred's greasy hands. Saying that his personal copy held various notes, something Peterr could understood and Alfred was at that intellectual level.

Even though the notes, written in black ink, were quite helpful for ourchallenged American here. He found himself sucked into the puzzling play with more than just the answer key to anything Professor Kirkland assigned this unit. He found himself paying closer attention in this literature class now, yes. Quite the oddity considering Alfred's impressively miniscule attention span.

It wasn't the material being taught that suckered Alfred in, no. It was the voice relaying it. How he never managed to listen in on that voice before is quite the mystery. He found it soothing, in a way, something he wouldn't mind hearing everyday, unlike a certain Russian boy he knows of-

"Alfred, could you explain why Hamlet never went through with his suicide during the 'To be or not to be' monologue?" Once Alfred crashed down back into reality, he saw Arthur staring at him, not so subtly waiting for an answer.

Alfred blinked rapidly, as he hurriedly responded with. "He wanted to avenge his dad still? And he didn't kill Claudius yet?"

Alfred saw the green in his teacher eyes shrink. "Yes, very good. Moving on-"

The remaining minutes of class moved at a tortoise's pace before Arthur dismissed his class, excluding Alfred, who he needed a word with. "You're getting better, it's highly evident."

"Maybe that tutor session helped a lot." Alfred said.

Arthur had a slight curve to his lips. "Or you peeked at my notes before you answered." Alfred huffed before Arthur continued on. "I still firmly believe you need additional help. My notes can not always guide you."

"I'll see you at your place at four?"

"Huh, see you then, Alfred."

 **AN: To be frank with you all, I didn't expect such overwhelming statistics for chapter one of this . I nearly had a heart attack by reading it. In honor of that, I spent my day off devoted to this here chapter. I pray you lovely readers enjoyed it!**

 **Don't forget to leave a review, I'd love to know how I'm fairing so far!**

 **Thank you so much for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Three chapters in three days! Wow! I can hardly believe this hard work I've put in. But I'm sad to say that after this chapter, every day updates may cease to occur. My condolences, but please don't let this stop you from reading this chapter!**

It's been exactly five minutes since Alfred had arrived to his teacher's living space. For five prolonged minutes, he witnessed some awkward interaction between father and son. Ah yes, Arthur was fuming at his child for no particular reason. Peter here was staging a boycott towards his four o'clock nap time. Arthur's fuse had burst, as he screeched his head off, sending poor sniffling Peter to his bedroom. Something along the lines as "You ungrateful child! You go to your room for the rest of the day! No supper for you!" Arthur tiredly sighed, after he finished his deep breathes in and out, before heading back to where Alfred laid in wait.

"I'm terribly sorry for that." Arthur slid himself into his spot at the dining table, once again being across from his student. "We were discussing the death of Hamlet, am I right?" Alfred only frowned in response, with an affirmative grunt, but Arthur didn't catch wind of this hostile behavior of this bubbly man. Arthur began to drone on and on about the grand finale that lied at the end of Shakespeare's masterpiece. Until he noted the down cast look in the normally spunky American boy. "Is everything all right?" He asked.

Alfred uncomfortably shifted around in his seat, Arthur's eyes praying on him. After a minute of mental debate, he finally released these words in a threatening, yet contained, manner. "You shouldn't have yelled at your kid like that."

"Hm? I beg your pardon." Arthur replied, hearing Alfred's previous phrase word for word. The corners of the Briton's lips began to droop down. Thus forming a disapproving look towards his pupil.

Alfred unintentionally formed his blue eyes into a glare. Using them to stare into Arthur's emerald orbs. "Your kid, you yelled at him."

Alfred knew the relationship between Peter and Arthur was not any near his personal business. He knew for a fact that Professor Kirkland happened to be the world's most unhappiest man alive, though, that doesn't mean he has to project that onto a blossoming child. The American student has been named a child at heart, as well as the brain, so he found Peter's tantrums to be nothing more than simple tantrums.

Arthur furrowed his hilariously bushy eyebrows. "And what do you know about parenting?" He patiently watched Alfred to choose his next move. "Besides, this is a tutoring session, not some parenting one-oh-one class!"

After slapping down his returned copy of the studied play, Arthur gained back the control of the room. Since Alfred had reluctantly backed down. But with a well placed smirk on his face, Alfred proudly said. "You're just like Claudius."

Arthur chuckled lightly, taking it as both a joke as well as an insult to his character. "I see that you are learning the characters. In a form that involves insulting me."

"Hey! These sessions have made me smarter!" Alfred beamed, causing Arthur to stifle his laughing fit from behind his hand. Alfred couldn't help but to find himself laughing alongside the older man.

The session lagged onwards from that point, Arthur calming the laughter within his chest in order to teach the material in from of him. Alfred appreciated this feat, however, a nagging feeling was lodging inside his skull. The inescapable fact that Arthur roared with fury toward a normal child. He always believed his professor was better than this. So once the session came to a close, and Arthur rose from his chair-presumably to check on Peter-Alfred said. "You should apologize to him."

Arthur didn't even bother to ask a follow-up question, since he knew who Alfred was speaking of all too well. "I suppose you're right." The father of this child presented Alfred with a sincere smile. "Gosh, you're only such a young thing yet you know more about children than I do. It's more than likely due to the fact that you are still a child, in a sense that is."

"Hm, maybe so." Alfred stood from his seat, and presented his teacher with a farewell smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Teach!"

"You better not be late again." Arthur warned, as he watched the American student slowly, like molasses, leave his apartment. After Alfred had shut the door shut, Arthur trained himself for his apologie to Peter. Before heading to his son's closed bedroom.

Little did Alfred know, his request for Arthur to apologize to Peter, went the extra mile. Arthur arrived to class with a beautiful smile, that didn't dare leave his face as he loomed over the review guide. The students in the class gawked at their suddenly upbeat teacher. Some being more open about this change than others.

"Y'know Professor Kirkland looks better when he smiles. He looks less angrier than normal." One of the fellow students leaned towards Alfred, saying these words. Which made Alfred nod.

"You're right. Maybe someone spiked his tea with booze" He simply said, while he thought.

 _'He looks handsome as he smiles.'_

 **AN: I've been wanting to tie innocent child Peter into the story, more than I have been. So I hope you enjoyed this chapter centered around Arthur's short fuse towards his only child! And, a not-so-subtle hint towards the beginnings of this forbidden relationship of UsUk.**

 **Once again, I'd love to see some more reviews! It makes my heart flutter each time I receive one. May I ask of you to favorite this? If not, follow this story? It'd mean the world to me!**

 **Thank you kindly for reading this!**


	4. Chapter 4

The test to end anything Hamlet related in Professor Kirkland's class was right around the corner. Oh so very dreadful for Alfred here. He could feel a cold sweat run alongside his forehead after Arthur announced it to the class. 'No wonder why he was smiling…' Alfred thought to himself, as he was packing up to abandon the class setting for the rest of the day.

After hollering a goodbye to the slightly taken back Arthur, Alfred bolted straight out the doors within the college's literature building. He practically skipped down the concrete steps and landed on the plush green grass at the bottom. Why was he such a giggling schoolgirl? Beside the fact that he had yet another tutor session at Professor Kirkland's apartment at four o'clock sharp again, the two remaining classes of his were cancelled for the whole week. The cause being that the buildings they were being held in were being renovated. So Alfred here could spend some down time in his currently empty apartment shared by two.

After reaching the parking lot, littered with cars but with no people, Alfred climbed into his gifted cherry red mustang. Turning the key in the ignition, Alfred turned the rock n' roll radio station all the way up, before basically speeding the hell away from that consuming prison masquerading as a upkeep college.

It only consumed a few minutes, traffic adding onto the time, before he reached the towering building in which both he and Professor Kirkland occupy. All Alfred desired to do was to pig out on his left over chicken wings, the box being labeled in black Sharpie with his name, from the night before. Before laying on his bed to indulge in a quick nap before heading over to Arthur's apartment. That was the plan. Until he accidentally stepped on Professor Kirkland's son. Well, on the small thing's foot that is.

Alfred was a tad bit busy with his fantasy of his leftover chicken wings being warmed up, that he didn't take note of Peter running about the building playing tag with fellow children. He noticed when it was far too late. His ears picked up the sounds of a kid whimpering. "OH shi-ah, sorry little dude! I didn't see you!"

The American could feel his heart sinking as he saw watery blue eyes looking up at him. "Ow...that's not nice!" Peter hollered, wiping his eyes free of tears so he could appear tough like his father.

"Yeah, I know it's not nice! But I didn't see you!" Alfred frantically tried to justify his actions, but received nothing but wide eyes from the miniature Briton. "How about I get you some candy? Will that make you stop crying?" He was positive that he had some chocolate bar laying around in his side of the cabinet.

Peter's cheeks became tinted with a light rose before turning his attention down to the floor. "I'm not crying..." He mumbled, but Alfred didn't hear a word of that hogwash.

"Yeah, sure you aren't, kid." He kneeled down to Peter's standing height. "Now, ya want some candy or not?" Alfred beamed as Peter slowly raised his head with a equally as slow nod. He never received chocolates from his father, maybe his father's student would be different. Perhaps a bit more pleasant. "Knew you'd say yes! Wait here! Play a quick round of tag-uh, rock, paper, scissors! I'll be back!" After finishing his piece, Alfred momentarily abandoned Peter in the lobby of their apartment building. He bolted up four flights of stairs to reach his room. His roommate was still at class, so he wasn't slowed in his attempts of rummaging about his cabinets for chocolate for Peter. Besides, he rummaged about the kitchen almost every night.

He fist bumped the air in celebration after fishing it from it's hiding place, and seeing it wasn't expired. Making sure to lock the wooden door after he left, he hurried back down four flights of stairs that he was just on. He saw Peter sitting in one of the old velvet armchairs, his legs swinging as he was playing sticks with a equally small brown haired girl. Yikes, they even have similar eyebrows. Alfred patiently waited, whistling with a chocolate bar in his hand, until Peter happened to be done with his tournament. Since the brown haired girl was called up the stairs by some loud Australian man.

"Yo, little dude, the hero got you your candy!" Alfred boasted, approaching Peter in his chair.

The Little child's ears had picked up on some rather favorable keywords. "You're a hero...?" Peter tilted his head just a smidge. "Just like the heroes in the Saturday morning cartoons?"

With a slight ego growing, Alfred smirked before continuing with. "Yeah! I keep away the bad guys!"

"Could you do something for me?"

"Mhm, what can I do?"

"Could you be my dad's hero? He's always sad, so you can make him happy!"

Oh, Alfred wasn't expecting this. Alfred was expecting more along the lines of 'Could you be my role model?'. But, nonetheless, he simply didn't have the heart to turn down an innocent little kid. "No problem, will do."

Peter smiled, and Alfred had handed him his long awaited candy bar.

 **AN: My apologies for the wait for this was so drastically long. This is, because I happened to have boarded a plane and traveled to the UK for three days. It was truly a dream-like experience, but I will not drone on about it. I had only wanted to inform you, my lovely readers, of the cause of m prolonged absence.**

 **I hope you enjoyed the interaction between Alfred and Peter. I couldn't resist the urge to write them together any longer.**

 **Thank you for reading this fanfiction! It would truly make my heart flutter if you left me a review stating your views on my writing! I hope you all come back to this!**


	5. Chapter 5

Soon after making his vow, Alfred had left Peter to socialize with the other children the apartment complex had to offer. Scampering off to finally devour his chicken wings as Peter played Connect Four with some Italian teenager in the landlord's own room on the first floor. It wasn't until three-thirty in the afternoon when Arthur had returned from teaching to collect his offspring. Peter had a treasure trove of stories of that day to spill to his father. Something along the lines of a hero giving him a chocolate bar, which he split amongst himself and that Italian, and promised him something quite special that would occur relatively soon. However, Arthur wasn't honestly paying much attention. He only hummed in false confirmation, as his mind was racing about his and Alfred's tutoring session in thirty minutes.

"He said he was a hero!"

"That's nice."

"And he gave me a chocolate bar!"

"Mhm."

"He also said that'd he would make you super duper happy!"

"Great."

"I can't wait 'till after nap time!"

"Yes that's fantastic."

Ten minutes before Alfred was scheduled to arrive, Arthur was tucking little Peter into his bed for his daily nap time. Arthur pecked his son on the forehead before closing the door as he exited to bedroom. Peter raised his blankets up to his neck, trying to succumb to sleep's siren song. So when he woke he could witness his father with a bright, natural, smile on his face. That hero had promised him so.

Peter was being held in sleep's exactly thirty seconds from Alfred's arrival. When Alfred had knocked on the door, however, he anxiously waited for Arthur to open it. Alfred hadn't the slightest of ideas on how he was supposed to hold his end of the promise. Making Arthur smiled seemed more valuable than a vault filled with diamonds, something so hard to glimpse. When Arthur had opened the creaky glossed wooden door, Alfred felt his stomach being filled to the brim with butterflies, as his promised was replaying like a broken record in his head.

"'Ello Alfred. Come on in." Arthur said, stepping aside to allow Alfred enough room for entrance. Then it hit Alfred like a flaming bullet. He knew exactly how to tug the corners of Arthur's lips up. So when Alfred had brushed passed Arthur, his plan began to build itself as he plopped himself down at his usual spot at Arthur's welcoming dining table.

The tutoring session was roughly fifteen minutes of genuine teaching. The last forty-five being nothing but casual chat. Arthur serving sugar infested tea to Alfred, in a glistening white tea cup with painted roses on it. Arthur became quite talkative during the last forty-five minutes, most have been something inside the tea yet Alfred didn't feel any slight difference. Arthur had spilled only the bare minimum. He had recalled originating from England, with a single mother and four elder siblings to spare. He had come to America after receiving a scholarship, and has been stuck there ever since. Alfred didn't share much either, he had a typical mother and father with a twin that's his polar opposite. That was frankly it for the conversation. But Alfred also walked away with the knowledge of his teacher's inability to produce anything edible. Arthur had served scones, that appeared as rocks, thought Alfred had devoured them with a smile and burning mouth. When he had returned to his own apartment, he felt compelled to brush his teeth with both toothpaste and various cleaning products. Topped off with minty fresh mouth wash.

Besides that Alfred still had his vow to Arthur's little 'dude'. And Professor Kirkland's final exam on _Hamlet_ was the next day. So, guess what Alfred pushed himself to do. He stressed himself with the exercise of studying until everything about Shakespeare's play was hammered tight into his skull. By sheer chance, it seemed to have worked. Alfred had felt the test might've finished itself as he turned it in twenty minutes after he received it, being granted by a skeptical bushy eyebrow raise from Arthur at his desk. But if Alfred considered himself done, then Arthur would grade the test.

The look on Arthur's face after he counted the score together. A face brimming with confusion, yet eyes filled with happiness, and soft pink lips open slightly in concentration. Alfred couldn't tear his baby blue eyes from that look. He was nearly caught when Arthur finally discovered his composure once more.

It wasn't until the next day when Alfred got the chance to fully see his score. That studying had paid off. He aced the test. A one-hundred percent written on the first page, with Arthur's cursive letters forming a message on the blank space on the last page. At first glance, Alfred felt a light dust on his cheeks, yet on further investigation.

 _'You've done wonderful Alfred. I'm proud of you, I truly am. Peter and I cam bake you a treat and you can swing by our place to retrieve them, if you like. You deserve it for all this hard_ work.

Alfred didn't realize he was beaming like an idiot, until the girl sitting adjacent to him had pointed it out.

 **AN: But Alfred hasn't completed his promise just yet. Just you be patient! I hope you all are still enjoying this work. I'm currently trying to get Peter more mixed into the story than how he is now. So if I post some Arthur and Peter, or Alfred and Peter, chapters I hope you all don't mind one bit.**

 **I'd like to thank you all for reading! It would bring me joy if you could leave a review, and many thanks to those who have done so. And expect another chapter soon!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I hope you all don't mind Arthur and Peter baking cookies for Alfred at all.**

A day had blown by since Alfred had received his test, albeit with Arthur's note tacked on. It was a Sunday and both Alfred and Arthur didn't have any classes to be present in. So what better day would it to indulge in some cookies that Arthur had promised?

When Alfred had first knocked on the door, Arthur had answered already prepped and ready to cook. Alfred had noted a rather dull colored apron was tied around Arthur's clothing, yet Peter wasn't protecting his clothes with anything and he was already hard at work stirring the batter. Alfred was directed to rest his behind on the worn couch, which was in front of the television displaying a re-run of some older _Doctor Who_ episode. Alfred's eyes were glued to the television but he tuned into the conversation between father and son occurring in the kitchen space. Which began with Peter saying. "Can Alfred help us cook?"

"I'm sorry, poppet, but I promised that he'd get some sweets from the both of us. He aced his test after all." Peter pulled a long face before Arthur felt inclined to continue. "We want it to be special, right? To commemorate that Mr. Jones here has a brain!" Arthur smiled, and despite the use of some heavy wording for a child, Peter dittoed his father's smile. Yet Alfred frowned at this statement. "Now, what are we missing… eggs? I could have sworn that I put those in… did I Peter?"

There was a pregnant pause hanging in the air, the sounds of the Third Doctor's voice being the only thing audible. It felt like hours until Peter slowly let out. "Um… I don't think so."

"No worries! I'll just add them!" Arthur chirped, making Alfred's stomach churn and his gut sending him messages detailing him to bolt out the door. But, once Alfred had stood from the couch, he didn't casually walk to the door and exit the apartment. No, he took ten ginormous steps to the kitchen. Witnessing Arthur digging through the refrigerator for his dozen of eggs, and Peter furrowing his miniature bushy eyebrows while reading the written recipe on the counter. Arthur produced a cry of victory as he pulled the eggs from the fridge, yet there weren't twelve in the container. There was ten, which confused Arthur to no end. "Peter, have I cooked anything with eggs in it this week?"

"No. You woke up late on Friday so you didn't make me scrambled eggs. Monday you poured me some cereal. Tuesday…" Peter began to ramble on and on about his breakfast he consumed throughout the week.

When Peter finished reciting his memory of this week's breakfasts, Alfred had opened his mouth to say. "I thought you were a teacher! But you can't remember what you even ate this week!"

"Oh shut it, you git. Or I'll change your test grade and fail you. So you'll have to take my class again next year, then I can fail you again and again until I retire." Alfred immediately felt his mouth go dry, and he shut his mouth at Arthur's remark. "Alright. I'll just add one more egg. It can't hurt."

Arthur did exactly that, cracking open a pearly white shell to add the insides to the bowl of batter. That's when the idea of cookies became the key to Alfred's demise. Arthur had the oven heated, and he set the tray filled with scoops of batter into the oven. While the was cooking, the very welcoming dining table is where Arthur and Alfred were sat, since Peter had ran off to play with his toy trucks in his bedroom.

"So, enlighten me, exactly how did you manage to pass my test. Last I knew you had thought that Hamlet was a squealing farm animal." Arthur asked.

"Well, I did what any normal college student would do. Brew three pots of coffee and study all night." Alfred boasted while Arthur scoffed.

"Besides that. You even managed to craft an acceptable essay."

"Hey, I just remember stuff you shoved down my throat during our tutor sessions." This caused Arthur to unleash a smile as he slowly nodded.

"That's my job, isn't it? Let's just hope your brain doesn't collapse during the next unit's novel."

"Huh? What's the book?" Alfred asked.

"I hope you enjoy Jane Austen. We're reading Pride and Prejudice."

"You don't know how much I hate you, dude."

That's when the grating, nauseating, smell had tickled at both of their noses. The smell of burning food still being cooked within an oven. Arthur whispered something along the lines of "Oh, not again." As he stood and trudged to the over. Putting oven mitts over his impressively feminine hands, Arthur pulled the tray, now filled with lumps of black crusted sweets, and placed it on to a section of padded counter. Arthur had haphazardly poked one such lump with a stray fork, before he turned his attention to Alfred and said. "I think it is fine to eat it."

"Would you feed Peter this?" Alfred said, mouth slightly agape at the sight before him.

"I wouldn't, why do you ask?

"YET YOU'RE GONNA FEED IT TO ME?" Alfred hollered, though Arthur wasn't taken back by this in the slightest.

"Just eat one you wimp. It won't kill you!"

Little did both of them know, after Alfred had consumed one of these coal-like lumps, he had returned home, the whole batch wrapped up just for him. He felt his stomach beg and plead for mercy as Alfred shoveled down the burnt batch. He'd later regret this as he leaned over the toilet to hurl it back up as his roommate watched, disgusted. But, Arthur and Peter had made those sweets for him. He simply couldn't find the strength to toss them in the trash. In a way, that catastrophe masquerading as innocent cookies, were special. Just like the two people who had crafted and baked them.

 **AN: You wouldn't believe how awestruck I am from the positive feedback to my story. I'd like to thank you all for reading, and special thanks to those who review and favorited this! It means the whole world to me!**

 **Alfred and Arthur are getting closer and closer which each passing chapter. Soon they will realize what they have for each other. Yet, will they be able to act on these feelings?**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I am so terribly sorry for such a horrendously long absence... Some terrible things have been happening in my life. The worst is over now, of course, though the aftershock still remains. It's nothing to fret over, and frankly I would find it best if I had stopped talking about it here. Good news is, I'm finding the strength to write again. Last month, for school, my play was selected to be performed in front of the whole school, so of course that filled me up with some self-worth again. And now I find myself in front of a keyboard. Without further ado, please enjoy the long awaited latest addition to the story.**

* * *

Professor Kirkland was missing from his college course the day after the cookie-incident.

The students of the class we're joking around. Saying such oddities that Arthur must be going through his first hangover since his very own college days, or perhaps is wallowing in shame after hooking up with a questionable female from the red light district down town.

Yes, those remarks were all fun and games once it was all said and done. It elicited a smile and chuckle from everyone in the classroom. Everyone but Alfred. Alfred was faking his laughter, his true feelings sending emergency alarms ringing throughout his head. To the American, Arthur wasn't okay. Besides, the Englishman would never miss anything pertaining to Jane Austen. Hell, the Englishman would never miss out on a day of school! He had a child to support any who!

After actually waiting for the entire class period, Alfred had hustled away from the classroom-the other students all ready having left since it was quite evident that their teacher was not going to show. He hurriedly threw his school bag into the passenger seat of his sports car, and jammed the keys into the ignition. (Passerbys witnessing held confusion in their faces and glanced at one another) He heard the engine purr after turning the before mentioned keys. And with that, he was speeding off in a flash-the campus police rapidly blinking their eyes as he passed, wondering if what they saw was a coffee induced illusion or the next Evel Knievel had just sped on by.

Save for the traffic, Alfred had arrived back at the apartment complex ten minutes after he pulled free from the college. He had saw Peter, alongside a girl appearing to be his age and a teenage boy having just returned from high school, rolling dice out on the sidewalk after seeing it in a movie inside. With no reluctance, Alfred approached the trio, though, only directly talking to Peter. "Yo, lil Arthur." He inquired; Peter raising his head, a frown on his face from his new nickname. "Where's your pops?"

"Papa?" The little one cocked his head just a smidge-the girl next to him rolling a pair of snake eyes. "He didn't come out for breakfast."

"Huh?"

"He got a call from someone, he went into his room and never came out." Peter concluded.

Alfred's mind was going in a million in one directions from the lack of knowledge Peter had on the incident. Was Arthur indeed drinking and just being overly sentimental over a telemarketer? Perhaps a call from England detailing the death of his mother? A call giving him the layout of a job relocation? For Christ's sake, it could even be a call from the Child Protection Services who wanted to take Peter from him. And what little Alfred knew caused little knots in his stomach to be formed and tightened until the point where he wanted to hurl.

So, after thanking the blue-eyed baby Arthur for his time (and seeing that they were off to rolling dice with proper rules this go around) Alfred was fast on his feet to the Kirkland's apartment. Once up a flight of stairs in it's entirety, Alfred came face to face with the door that separated the Kirkland's lodging from the hallway in which he stood. And surprisingly, the door was never locked after Peter had left.

Without a doubt, Alfred had knew something was wrong by this point. And those emotions and thoughts shooting through his body only seemed to confuse him further; which is something he most definitely needed at that current moment.

Haphazardly turning the knob and listening to the door creak as he slowly swung it open, Alfred poked his head into the apartment. He took note of the living room and kitchen being absent. The television was switched off, the stench of the last's night dinner was still prominently displayed on the kitchen counter, and it seemed that that area hadn't been touched ever since Peter's departure.

Since the room was deathly silent, the rustle of sheets from the bedroom around the corner resonated through the apartment. Causing Alfred to officially allow himself in, before tip-toeing to Arthur's room.

Where he just so happened to see his teacher all dressed for work, laying in a bed that hadn't been made. His eyes were ready to droop close and hid blonde hair matted and bangs concealing his eyebrows. "Uh..." Alfred uttered low in his throat, causing Arthur to curl his legs and bring his head up slightly. "Hiya, teach... You weren't at school today..."

"Yeah..." Arthur's voice slightly cracked. "I wasn't..." He sighed, brushing his bangs away from his eyes.

"Is everything a-okay in the life of Arthur Kirkland?"

There was suddenly a boisterous shaky exhale hailing from Arthur. There was a very faint whine that Alfred didn't quite catch. "She called...I don't even know that bloke but she found me..."

"Huh?" Alfred widened his eyes slightly in confusion. "Who?" He felt butterflies begin to flutter the silky smooth wings in his stomach. He was scared for the reply, petrified even. Even though

"Peter's mother... she wants him back..."


	8. Chapter 8

There was an awkward silence lingering amidst the Kirkland's apartment. Arthur still laid in bed, eyes as dry as the Sahara Desert yet voice hinting to a possible meltdown as he explained-to Alfred that is-his issues on hand.

And yes, Alfred wasn't taking the news well one bit. "What!? She doesn't just get to call dibs! Right...?"

"She does when we go to court! Guess who's name isn't on Peter's birth certificate?"

The blue-eyed American took a near silent sharp inhale. "Yours?"

"Yes." Arthur responded, British accent thickening just a smidge. Just enough to let Alfred know he hadn't any hope as to his keeping of Peter. "Her name is... Without a blood test, I can't be proven to be his father."

A pregnant pause ensued. An awkward silence. Any sort of absence of sound imaginable was running through that apartment room at that very moment. The grandfather clock resting in the living room was faintly resonating, as Alfred's loud intakes through the nostrils overcame Arthur's quiet breaths.

Arthur slowly began to raise himself into a sitting position. One palm flat against the sheet-covered matress as he got up with a grunt low in his throat. With nimble fingers, he brushed aside his bangs-revealing caterpillar eyebrows that inclined Alfred to smile at himself at. "The judge can't deny Peter's likeness to your eyebrows." A wry smile had formed itself on Arthur's face, something to distract him from his internal pain for just a second. "Yeah! You'll totally win off of that!"

A dry chuckle escaped Arthur's throat. "Perhaps Alfred... or I'll reach another tragedy as Atticus Finch did with Tom Robinson."

"I don't follow-"

"I just don't know what to do..."

Despite the fact that Arthur had quite literally had been sulking the whole day, Alfred hadn't heard his professor with a tone so... defeated. Arthur had both his arms crossed, yet hands gripping his small biceps as if he was shivering. Silent tears had finally broken free from their emerald cages, sliding down Arthur's porcelain cheeks with shakey breaths being evident to Alfred's ears. "I'm going to lose him... I'll be a lonely man again. Just you see."

As if on pure impulse, Alfred had latched his muscular arms around the older man's torso. The Englishman stiffened at the foreign contact, and Alfred was praying that Arthur wouldn't take any of his actions in the wrong manner. Yet, unexpected for both parties, Arthur's back slouched and he produced the most ugliest sobbing noise imaginable. Something so horrible that Alfred never desired to hear such a noise again. An abundance of tears slid off Arthur's cheeks and fell onto the brown sleeves of Alfred's beloved bomber jacket. Arthur's eyes were squinted near shut, and his face was scrunched together oddly liked a wringed out towel. Most certainty, without a fiber of doubt, Alfred hadn't wanted to see anything remotely like this again.

Luckily, Arthur's sobs began to fizzle out. He began to wipe excess tears and fresh snot onto his own shirt's sleeve. Without needing to be asked, Alfred unhooked his arms from around Arthur's petite body. Hearing a quaint. "Thank you..." After doing so.

Alfred still kept hid watchful eye on Arthur as the latter ran his thumbs under his eyes to scoop up the last of his tears. The Englishman sniffled before glancing up at Alfred with puffy eyes. "May you do something for me?"

"Yeah, what?" Alfred immediately stepped up to the plate in order to fulfill whatever duty was to be handed to him.

"Peter. Can-" Arthur sniffled once more. "Can you go get him? I need a moment to freshen up'"

Like an obedient puppy, Alfred turned on his heel to exit the Kirkland Apartment. Descended the stairs he climbed up moments ago, and saw that Peter had migrated into the lobby. Where he just so happened to be bobbing his head left to right and swinging his little legs, as he sat upon a loveseat watching some blighted Lifetime flick the landlord had left on prior. "Yo, Lil Arthur!" Alfred called out, catching Peter's attention. "Mind coming back upstairs?"

Peter simply hummed in approval as he pushed himself off the loveseat, shoes making a clicking sound as they hit the floor. He waddled up to Alfred, glancing up at him with bright, big, blue eyes giving Alfred the confirmation to lead him upstairs. Lead him upstairs to his father, who had quickly swept away any faults that came as a side effect to his earlier episode. Except for the redness to his eyes, that gave a distinct pink color to accompany his tired emerald irises. "Thank you, Alfred." Arthur said after he opened the door to his apartment, and hoisted Peter up and balanced the sod onto his hip. "I'll see you tomorrow." He stated, closing the door in Alfred's face as the American felt the desire to let himself in and tune in on what Arthur had to say to Peter.

If there was anything to say at all.

And the mere thought of Arthur refusing to tell Peter of the missing mother was on repeat through Alfred's mind for the rest of the day. Keeping him wide awake through the night, and giving him something to think about as he sipped his morning coffee the next day. Even prompting the man to ask Arthur about it after class.

"Did you tell Peter?"

 **AN: Will Arthur tell Peter of his mother? Tune in next time to find out!**

 **Besides that, thank you kindly for reading this latest installment! I didn't realize how much I missed writing until now! If you all would be so kind, could you leave me a review? It would me so much to me.**

 **Farewell! Have a wonderful day!**


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur presented Alfred with a bewildered glance after he was asked that very question. Presenting Alfred with two possible answers to his question. The first being, Arthur had spilt the details to his child; and was given hope from Peter in order to stay strong. Or second, Arthur had simply held off from telling Peter-being his normal sad self simply because Peter didn't know what the future had in store.

Did you all guess number two was the correct answer? Because it is. And it exists with a terrible explanation to go hand-in-hand with it.

"No, Alfred, I didn't." Arthur sat his pen down besides his mountain of paperwork-being weighted down by his personal copy of _Oliver Twist_. "Peter doesn't need to know exactly this moment. Besides! It will give me ample time to figure a method to tell him."

A method to tell Peter? Oh, was Arthur simply going to buy the sweetest cupcakes from the state, present them on a silver platter, and then say 'Your mum, remember her? Yes, she wants you back and my chances of keeping you are slim. So, how are the sweets?' If Alfred F. Jones had any say in this matter, Peter would find out today. But deep down he knew Arthur would only procrastinate, and tell his son a day before the court date. As any comic book hero accomplishes, they take matters into their own hands.

"Y'know, I think Pride and Prejudice sucks, so my opinion doesn't matter to ya, but I also think that you need to tell Lil Arthur." Alfred announced, making sure no prying ears were listening in with a quick glance over his shoulder. "Or I'll do it."

It was that moment where Arthur most certainly desired to violently scream and start swinging his stubby-bitten at-finger nails towards his American student standing before his desk. However, Arthur here doesn't lack self-control, so he did manage to keep his physical movements suppressed. His mental suppression,however, hadn't worked so well. As he was internally telling a string of profanities that used to get him spanked by his mother. "Fine!" It was obvious in his voice that Arthur was indeed holding back a much needed scream, oh so obvious since Alfred had managed to catch it. "If you can raise my son better than I, his own father, can, by all means, give him the American dream."

The Briton shot the younger American a nasty look before doing his normal huff and then returning to grading. Which, in understanding Arthur's behavior, that translates to _'Get the bloody fuck away from me.'_ and a little bit more that isn't so appropriate.

So, his spirit some how still going strong, Alfred took the message and left Mr. Kirkland to his own devices. Just as Alfred was about to indulge in his.

Returning back to the apartment, Alfred found Peter in the usual location in the apartment complex; sitting with an Australian girl his age and a teenage Italian while watching some edited movie on television. "Hey, Peter!" Alfred called, once he was behind the armchair Peter had claimed in the corner by the television. "I got somethin' to ask."

Peter lifted his head up, in order to see Alfred's head, as the other two minors had diverted their attention from the screen too. "We'll talk about it with some ice cream."

"Ice cream!?" Peter squeaked, surprised with blue eyes widened. The other two kids appeared to have a faint look of jealousy on their baby features as Peter had a little bit of trouble springing to his feet. "C'mon, Mr. Alfred, let's go!" Peter skipped around the armchair and used both his little hands to latch on to Alfred's larger hand. "Papa never gets me ice cream, let's go!"

After being dragged to his questionably child-friendly sports car, Alfred drove himself and the little Kirkland right down the road to the ice cream parlor two miles away. Decorated baby blue on the outside, and fitted with cream colored retro furniture on the inside-Alfred and Peter ventured on inside and ordered. Alfred received his root bear float and triple chocolate scoop mushed into a cone, whilst little Peter was captivated by cotton candy flavored ice cream with partly stiff marshmallows mixed in. They sat at one of the three booths by the large window left of the entrance door-to be precise, the booth in the middle. Alfred consumed his food within fifteen minutes but Peter took his time, his tongue and lips turning a revolting shade of blue.

"Can I ask ya somethin' now?" Alfred said, catching Peter while the little one was chewing on a marshmallow. Peter nodded his head, a loud hum following soon. Causing Alfred to continue with. "Have you seen your mom around?"

"Mummy?" Peter swallowed his food stuff as Alfred confirmed the statement. The Little Briton slightly furrowed his own pair of caterpillar eyebrows, using all his might to think, before spurting out. "Yesterday after breakfast...? Or the other day... that was my mummy."

"Huh?" Alfred was surprised to even get a positive answer. "Did she say somethin' to ya, Champ?"

"She wanted to, but Wendy and I were playing before she went to see Papa."

Alfred narrowed his eyes, lips slightly agape as he exhaled near slightly. Thinking, yes what a foreign concept to him, about how a hero could fix the situation. Until;

"Alfred? Are Papa and I gonna be okay?"

* * *

 **AN: My apologies for the absence of any updates. I attended my state's thespian festival this year, and all my energy was drained from that. But since that has ceased to exist for the rest of the year, I've returned my aattention to writing! I hope you dear readers enjoyed this chapter! And if you all wouldn't mind, could you please leave a review? I adore feedback of any matter! Besides that, I hope you have a nice day!**


	10. Chapter 10

That question. _'Are Papa and I gonna be okay?'_ Geez, that was surely a kick to the stomach.

Little Peter stared up at Alfred with those humongous blue eyes of him. They were swimming with curiosity for an answer, as his disgustingly painted blue lips were parted a mere centimeter. All Alfred could do was stare into those big-childish-eyes of the boy, an answer trying to fabricate within his mind before he spurted it out with that boisterous voice of his. But, before he could be 'rational' about it, without his brains consent, his heart made him speak.

"Yeah, you'll be fine! Like I said, I'm the hero! I'll make sure you'll be a-okay!"  
Peter's mouth had closed itself before the corners with tugged into a rather big smile-a smile that could put the Cheshire Cat's to shame. "I knew it!" The little thing stated, licking his lips to collect leftover melted ice cream to savor upon. "You'll keep Papa happy! Just like the cartoons!"

"Yeah, just like those cartoons."

Thankfully, before anymore serious conversation topics were to be thrown about the room once more, Peter had altered the conversation to one about his favorite superheros on the telly every Saturday morning-that he would watch while feasting on his favorite cereal. He weaved through his adored episodes about "Captain America" and "Iron Man" without taking even a split second to ponder about a certain detail. And with that topic of discussion tying those two individuals together, Alfred had bought both himself and Peter yet another scoop of ice cream to devour.

Perhaps you do remember how they traveled two whole miles for their magnanimous party? Thank two texting teenage drivers for turning the trip back into one whole hour-though, you shouldn't worry since those two were texting their parents for help as their cars were being towed away. Peter had fallen asleep on the way back home to the apartment complex. His head was leaned back against the passenger seat-the seat he was advised not to be in at his age, but that is all Alfred had available-with his  
golden bangs covering his faintly fluttering eyelids. So yes, once their great expedition had concluded, Alfred had carried the tired thing into the complex and up on flight of stairs.

And luckily, Peter hadn't begun to stir after Alfred had tested whether or not a door was locked, and happened to have walked in on poor Arthur's violent sobs bouncing from wall to wall.

This episode occurred in the living room this go-around. Arthur was slumped over on the couch, his elbows digging into the tops of his knee caps as his face was concealed in the ginormous cup both his hands had made. He sobbed and sobbed, even as Alfred had entered the living space. Yet, the one thing that stood out to Alfred more than the hideous shaking of those bony shoulders or the horrendous noises being made, was the cell phone innocently sitting next to Arthur on the couch cushion. It was on and displaying the call list, signifying that whatever had happened, had happened recently.

With hastened movements, Alfred had delivered snoozing Peter to his respected bedroom-setting the little one down on his sea green comforter that decorated his mattress-before darting back out to the living room. The American boy had circled around the couch-in order to be directly in front if Professor Kirkland-before claiming the middle seat after moving the now comatose cellular device. "You told Peter, di-didn't you?" Arthur had let out, after sucking in deep breath after deep breath to calm his excessive crying. As a response, Alfred slowly nodded his head, of course, after Arthur's cold emerald gaze had finally hit him. "B-bravo! Now he-he won't wonder wh-why I'm shipping h-him off early!"

"Early? Alfred inquired, perplexed by that sole word at the end of the previous statement. "Wait-wait-wait-"

"She's crafted a story!" Arthur began, a paranoid tone to his voice. "Good-no-fantastic e-enough to have me a-arrested and h-have P-Pe-Peter sent to her!" Arthur brought his bony knees to his chest, as more and more tears began to leak over his eyelids. "I can't-" He started, a hiccup springing forth from his mouth before continuing. "Lose him! No-not like this..."

Alfred just sat there, observing with widened eyes. He held one hand near Arthur's bouncing shoulders-as the elder buried his face in his knees to cry a river-it lingered in the air since one consoling hand on the shoulder was not going to fix much of anything. "I-I love him.." Arthur painfully whispered-his eyelids squeezing shut as his lungs ached with each hard breath he took in.

Luckily, an idea had finally managed to wiggle its way into Alfred's miniscule mind. Yes, the idea hadn't entirely belonged to him. And yes, it seemed rather idiotic on paper. But, Alfred was willing to try, to do, anything to cease that gut-retching wail.

"Mr. Kirkla-ah-Arthur." Alfred's voice suddenly became louder than what the Englishman was letting out. "Look at me."  
With the sudden booming voice, Arthur slightly jumped in his seat, however, he did indeed move his head in order to give Alfred his whole undivided attention. His tears still cascaded down his tired face, his cried being reduced to uneven breaths flowing in and out.

Then, Alfred used his large hands to cup Arthur's shallow cheeks-descending tears bumping against his very hands-before he pulled Arthur towards him. His lips smashing against Arthur's softer pair.

Alfred F. Jones had just kissed his English professor.

And Professor Arthur Kirkland had kissed back.

* * *

 **AN: I hope you all enjoyed! Please leave a review and tell me how I am doing! Have a nice day!**


	11. Chapter 11

Alfred and Arthur had kissed; to put it bluntly. Arthur was trying to heave in breath after breath to soothe his ongoing episode, while Alfred cupped the elder's cheeks and kept the teacher up close and personal with him. Nonetheless, the calming kiss had ceased eventually-the human necessity for air is to blame-though the Englishman had had his mood significantly altered. He was still crying, yes-with a displeasing frown on his face-but after they pulled apart; Arthur buried his face into Alfred's well-rounded shoulder. The fuzz from the collar of the bomber jacket tickled at Arthur's forehead as he sniffled and allowed forlorn tears to leak from his eyes, and soak into Alfred's clothing.

Out of sheer impulse, Alfred ensnared his arms around the curve of Arthur's waist-his arms fitting like a glove around the professor's body. His baby-blue eyes were squinted just a smudge, listening to the Englishman regain his once discarded composure.

They remained like so for quite the lot of time. Alfred physically being able to feel Arthur quiet down in his embrace, until the Englishman's breaths were near silent. "I'm sorry." Mr. Kirkland eventually croaked, sniffling back mucus that threatened to run free from his nostrils, as he forced himself away from his student. There was a wry smile beginning to build itself on Arthur's lips; a smile that caused Alfred's heart to flutter but made his mind worried. "I haven't cried so much ever since I left England."

Alfred smiled back, using his thumb to wipe away stray tears off Arthur's face-well any stray tears the Briton may have missed after the man himself used his clothed wrist as a towel. "It's okay. At least it's nice to know that you have a heart."

"You better shut it, you bloke, or I'll regret kissing you."

* * *

After that hectic episode, Alfred had been taught the entire story to Peter's mother. (Of course, only after Arthur had brewed himself some lovely tea with honey stirred in to combat his sickening headache.)

Arthur's former lover is, well to put it nicely, infertile from approximately five years of smoking-beginning one weak before Peter was born, in order to soothe the pain in her midsection. She had remarried rather recently, in fact, nearly one year ago-her first husband had mysteriously disappeared but had left his wife a gargantuan sum of inheritance for her to fuel her shopping sprees with. She wedded some CEO of a rising social media platform, something involving music and some bloke lip-syncing to it, Arthur forgot the name of it since he hadn't cared about it to begin with. This man adored her with every fiber of his being, however, he had desired a child. Which was something she couldn't gift him. Though, after the knowledge of Peter-her bastard-had arose to the husband, he was more than willing to welcome in little Peter with open arms. So, in the end, the expedition to ruin Arthur's all ready demolished life and steal Peter away had begun!

Oh, and the story that the mother was going to weave to steal Peter! That one is quite simple actually. Arthur had raped her long ago, and forced her to keep the child that was growing within. Before she could escape Arthur and his 'treacherous' ways, she gave her child to the landlord; so that Arthur's rage after discovering her gone wouldn't be inflicted on Peter. Now, she wants her baby back to keep him sheltered from his psychopathic father. Quite the fib now, isn't it?

Alfred had to survey Arthur numerous times after in order to confirm, that yes, the Arthur in front of him wasn't capable of doing whatever the mother had crafted. It even went to the extent of a game of Twenty Questions for Alfred's mind to label Arthur as innocent.

And with that story being branded in Alfred's mind, Alfred had decided to take his leave. Of course, making sure Arthur was going to be all right for the remainder of the night beforehand.

Alfred had thought that would be the end of things; intimately, romantically, any word that are synonymous with those two, between himself and Arthur. They had shared a kiss, neither of them would deny that, but that was in the heat of the moment. A quick action by the American in order to calm the Englishman. Not some catalyst for some relationship Alfred would hold onto throughout college.

Or so he thought.

After class, a week having passed since they had connected lips, Arthur had summoned Alfred up to his desk. The professor had awkwardly asked Alfred out for dinner for that night, with stumbled words and references to _Jane Eyre_. Even though Arthur's skills on asking an individual out needed some polishing, Alfred had accepted the invitation-after poking fun at Arthur's conversation skills.

Though, Arthur could not believe he was not turned down. Considering their relationship is strictly taboo, and could get the Englishman some quality jail time.

Nonetheless, the American rushed on home after that encounter. He combed through his hair over and over, showered four times (using different soaps and shampoos each time), tried on four suits his roommate recommended to him, and used an entire bottle of mouthwash. All in preparation for the date that was at five that evening.

Once ready, he departed to Arthur's apartment, picked the grumpy male up, and ensured the landlord could watch over Peter until later that night. That's all it took before Alfred and Arthur had disembarked-in Alfred's own car.

Right as a blue-eyed lady, the same shade as Peter's own, had parked her car in the apartment's parking lot.

* * *

 **AN: Peter's mom decided to pop by for a visit.**

 **Thank you all for reading! I greatly appreciate it!**


	12. Chapter 12

The blue eyed bombshell exited her car with slim-freshly waxed and glossy-legs out of her pristine new sports car, before hoisting her entire slim body free from the mobilized box. She placed her nauseously decorated key chain into her cropped leather jacket pocket, then deciding that it would be best to head on in; grimacing at the visual fact that the tiled floor of the lobby had yet to have undergone its weekly cleaning. However, her eyes lit up like an overly decorated Christmas tree, when she spotted her blonde-haired kin lounging in his favorite armchair-tired eyes barely hanging onto the television.

Peter curled his body into a ball in the seat of the armchair, his arms crossed on the armrest in order to act as a substitute for his fluffy pillow lying in wait in his bedroom. He stifled draining yawn after draining yawn, despite his bedtime being a few dragging hours away. He was absorbing in some blighted eighties flick, edited for the telly of course, with some flashy martial art moves involved while the landlord had to step away yo receive a phone call from her distant daughter. Giving the posh former-mother the opportune moment in which to pounce.  
"Hey Sweetie~" She cooed, after strategically placing herself behind little Peter in his rather big armchair.  
The drowsy child glanced up at the feminine figure who held piercing eyes staring down at him. Yet he was not able to confirm who in the blazes was observing him.

"Peter, It's your mommy... Remember me?"

That certainly caught the little one's wavering attention.

"Mummy?" He repeated with his vocals slowed just a bit. The mother herself nodded her pretty little head in confirmation. "Hm... Papa said-" He stopped himself to yawn with his large gapping mouth being left uncovered. "-I gotta ignore you."

After that sentence was spoken, the crocodile tears began to form and leak past her eyelids-ruining her perfectly done mascara and eyeliner-causing her child's eyebrows to rise in confusion-however, she did indeed catch Peter's undivided attention. "I-I knew it!" She swiftly scooped up tears, that slid down her red cheeks, with the back of her wrists. "He-He's a nut job!" She cried out with a feigned strained voice, even managing to catch the landlord's attention-who happened to had just closed her phone call and who happened to be resting her behind on the very top step, of the flight of stairs leading to the first floor. "Tell me, my sweet! Does he hurt you!? I don't want you hurting you like he did me!"

While Peter was watching a performance to could put every single actor who ever walked the Earth to shame, the landlord had pocketed her mobile phone before using the hand railing to hoist herself up onto her pained feet. And with creaking knees, she descended the stairs with minimal difficulties-having to balance herself just once.

"Hello miss!" She greeted after placing eyes on the world's greatest actress who was pestering poor Peter. "May I help you?" She inquired, in a polite tone of voice. "I see you met Peter all ready." She smiled to herself.

But, the mother's tears had ceased and she glanced at the landlord with her upper lip rose in disgust. "No... I'll be leaving now." The mother replied, turning her back to both her son and the kind old landlord, before striding on out like a movie star on the red carpet. A bit too flashy to be left unnoticed.

"Peter. Do you know who that was?" The landlord asked, pushing Peter aside so the both of them could coexist on the armchair.

"My mummy."

Ah yes, it has been a bit of time since the landlord saw that siren. Two years was it? Hm, it seems like Peter was in her care since Arthur had moved in.

Yes, the landlord remembers. The blank slate of a face that mother held as Peter was given away without a second thought. How 'Good riddance' was mumbled underneath that girl's breath as she waltzed out of her son's life. And how Peter hadn't bawled when he was given to the landlord, in fact, those blue eyes of his sparkled the brightest that day since the days had went on.

"Your mother..." The landlord continued. "A tricky sort she is..."

* * *

Alfred and Arthur's date wasn't a complete success. Yet, it wasn't a complete failure either.

They ventured off to some French cafe about fifteen minutes away from the apartments-since Arthur had knew the fellow who owned that place. Arthur had conjured up the spirit of a typical female, and had only ordered tea and a salad he didn't complete. While Alfred practically ordered the whole menu to consume.

There was small talk, yes. The typical getting to know each other kind of talk. Alfred had learned his professor was only twenty-three, and Arthur learned that Alfred was graduating the coming spring. Their earlier kiss was brought up, Arthur saying it was his first kiss in four years-and he was delighted to have it with Alfred-despite their relations to one another.

How very boring. But, a little more air was cleared so the kiss from the day before hadn't become an awkward memory to relish on.

And they were home before they knew it-probably due to the fact Alfred adored speeding in his sports car, much to Arthur's distaste.

However, the landlord had pulled Arthur aside for a quick talk, and the Englishman had tasked Alfred to deliver Peter to his bed-after handing him the Kirkland apartment keys of course.

So, Alfred carried the child up to his respective apartment-unlocking the door and entering before flipping on one set of lights. After hunting down the correct room, Alfred placed the half-conscious Peter down on his welcoming bed; and tucked the tired sod in with sea green sheets and a matching comforter decorated with dinosaurs. Peter cracked open his blue eyes just a smidge to register Alfred's companionship. "Good night, Mister Alfred..." He yawned.

And Alfred felt inclined enough to lean down and peck Peter's forehead with his lips. "Good night, little dude."


	13. Chapter 13

Alfred exited Peter's bedroom with slowed movements, in order not to stir the snoozing child inside. A smile was painted onto his face as he peeked through the ever shrinking gap in the doorway, watching the blankets rise and fall with every breath Peter indulged in. The American sighed after he sealed off the bedroom, and with heavy feet, he ventured off into the eerily silent living room.

Just in time for Mr. Kirkland to return to his lodging.

Though, Arthur seemed rather… off. Was that the word? Nonetheless, Arthur seemed to be in an entirely different world. He was staring down at his feet as he slipped off his shoes-eyes glazed over as if he was disinterested. His eyes remained in the same state as he slipped himself free of his coat, and as he nearly walked right into Alfred. "Huh?" The Englishman hummed, as he saw Alfred's figure in his path. "Oh, Alfred, sorry about that, Love." The professor apologized, a faint blush dusting his cheeks-more from embarrassment than anything. "Thank you for putting Peter to bed." Alfred took instant note that that last phrase Arthur had spoken seemed rather forced, as if he was attempting to hustle Alfred's removal from his apartment.

"Is everything okay-"

"Yes!" Arthur interrupted Alfred, eyes widened as he slipped passed the bigger male.

That panicked sort of response from the fragile Englishman had rung one too many warning alarms within Alfred's brain all know Mr. Jones here is quite the daft fellow, even a rock could have told you that, and he wasn't the best at reading emotions of the others around him. (Spotlight back to Alfred's high school days where he broke a poor girl's heart after dumping her. However, he failed to realize she was still seething in fantasies of what could've been. And the American had announced to nearly the whole school that he was dating the head cheerleader, who also happened to be his ex-girlfriend's EX-best friend. Geez, what a traumatic experience for that poor girl.) Though, both his heart and guts alike had told his brain that something wasn't entirely...in acceptable condition with Arthur here. "Uh-hu. I'll just go ask the landlord then, yep." Alfred let out, inching closer and closer to the front door.

The American had thought the English professor would immediately break down and hug his American student around the waist, and profusely sob as he spilled forth what he was told. In actuality, since dreams rarely ever come true, Arthur still stood there; unwilling to witnessed Alfred step closer and closer to the front door, his usual disapproving scowl resting on his tired old face. He muttered an inaudible "Goodbye.." and retreated down the hallway-assumingly to his own bedroom-as Alfred placed his hand upon the doorknob and turned it.

Arthur was simply tuning out the prospect that Alfred was indeed going to ask the landlord of their conversation. That is all well and good, but the lack of believability on Arthur's part was a tad bit disconcerting.

Nonetheless, the American boy trudged on his merry way down the draining flight of stairs to the white tiled lobby. Indeed the landlord-or the landlady in this instance-was occupying her time with using an old dustpan and an equally as old broom to sweep up any crud that Peter or she might have accidentally left behind. She was softly humming some old lullaby from a time when she was still raising her very own flesh and blood, but the warbles from the television were overpowering her beautiful, muffled, vocals. "Miss Héderváry?" The American pipped up, catching the greying blonde's attention. "Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"Yes, go ahead." The landlady replied, smiling at her tenant.

"What did you and Arthur talk about…?"

Upon the first hearing of that phrase, the landlady was a bit confused as to why Alfred was asking of his teacher's personal life-she was told, when given Peter earlier that night-that they were venturing out for a tutor session at the library. But upon the second hearing of that phrase, all the pieces clicked. (She gave it three months before Alfred would move into Arthur's apartment. Three months ladies and gentleman, perhaps sooner.) "Ah, yes. Peter's mother came by." She answered, Alfred's eyes squinting a bit in confusion. "I don't know what she said to Peter, but her tears were certainly fake. I may be old, but I raised kids myself!" She laughed. "And I know a liar when I see one!"

"Peter's mother talked to him?" Alfred pressed further.

The landlady shook her head. "Don't worry too much! I know your step-son will be all right!"

"He isn't my step-son-"

"Your step-son is going to all right!" The land lady reassured while patting Alfred on his muscular shoulder. "Peter isn't in any harm." The old woman cracked a smile, but her eyes were drowning in a pool of uncertainty. "I can't say the same thing for Arthur now…" Her smile exited stage right and in came a look of pure seriousness. An expression Alfred adopted for his own features.

Alfred thanked the old woman for her time, quickly turning on his heel to make a dash out of the suddenly solemn conversation. However, once he had reached the foot of the stairs leading on up, the frail voice belonging to the landlady called out to him. "Take care of them."  
The American cracked a smile as well, nodding his head before going on up those stairs.

Alfred strode on past his own apartment room-his roommate forgetting to lock the door after Alfred had abandoned ship for his date earlier-and walked right on down to Mr. Kirkland's apartment-Mr. Kirkland also forgetting to lock his door.

The environment had remained the same even after his departure, silent and tense. Nonetheless, Alfred had walked on down the minuscule bedroom hallway, tiptoeing past Peter's now open room, before entering Arthur's sleeping quarters. However, he saw the Englishman sitting up on his bed, having numerous essays spread out on his comforter. Arthur indulged in a hot second to register Alfred's presence before him. "'Ello, did you forget something?"

"Nope."

"...then why are you here?"

"To see you."

"You will during class tomorrow."

"Eh, couldn't wait though."

"That isn't a good excuse."

"Good enough for me though!" Alfred said, a toothy grin painted on his lips as he made himself comfortable on the empty side to Arthur's bed-kicking off his shoes and removing his coat.

All Arthur could do was awkwardly stare at his student. (Slash boyfriend, but Arthur didn't know if he could begin calling Alfred such a thing.) Before shrugging his small shoulders and returning to grading papers with a hunched back.

While watching Arthur grade some boring one-page essays, Alfred had succumbed to slumber all lax and spread out on the empty side of Arthur's bed. The American had a wondrous dream of him, Arthur, and Peter having some form of a family game night with Scrabble. But when he woke up, he saw Arthur's head using his stomach as an impromptu pillow, the Englishman taking in silent breaths in his own slumber.

Alfred knew for certain two things at that moment:

First, the empty side of Arthur's bed would be filled from then on.

Second, he got a hundred-percent on his essay.

* * *

 **I was going to make Pangaea or Ancient Egypt be the landlady, but from my knowledge they don't have a last name. So I used an older Hungary instead!  
**

 **I hoped you all enjoyed this chapter!**


	14. Chapter 14

The next day at the university was as painfully awkward as one would expect after the night before. Mr. Alfred here was daydreaming, an elbow propped on the wooden surface his supplies were on and placed his hand underneath his chin, while listening to Professor Kirkland drone on and on about how British literature is far more superior than whatever trash American writers decide to spew out. Shakespeare is considered a glorious god of writing compared to Poe. And isn't Steinbeck a bit too overrated? Alfred couldn't comprehend a single word that tumbled forth from Arthur's mouth, yet he was so smitten with the Englishman, he adored every single word.

Ah yes, the details of Alfred's nauseating daydreams completely glossed over the unmistakable fact of Peter's presence. The new student for the day, as Arthur put it, or the week if conditions didn't clear up.  
Since the landlady was quite the busy lady that day-her hands being full with her daughter going into labor with the landlady's granddaughter-so any child normally left in her protective care was to travel to their parent's work that day. When Arthur walked in with the miniature version of him following his every move-Peter's favorite stuffed fox donned in a red cape, named Oliver after the titular character from Oliver Twist, was being carried like a briefcase-and Alfred did a faint wave to the little thing, making sure no prying eyes would see such a thing happen. Peter sat in a foldout chair by his father's old oak desk, and swung his feet while both glancing at all the student's face and hugging fox Oliver to his chest. Yet, the little thing understood every word that Arthur said, he even knew the novels that were in the discussion, and even inaudible muttered to himself things such as. "I really liked that book!" or the alternative phrase to his stuffed animal. "Do you like that book, Oliver?"

When actually work was assigned to the students, a thorough reading of Finnegan's Wake-Arthur can go to Hell for assigning that hellspawn of a novel-Peter's attention was brought back to his father, who had just sat down at his very own desk. The little one was brought into Arthur's lap, the stuffed fox being abandoned in the lonely beige foldout chair, and surprisingly watched as Arthur graded homework from the night prior. (Which was the homework Alfred completed at the Kirkland's dining table, and he had asked Peter for some aide on most of the questions.) Peter would lean closer to his father and ask "What does that word mean?" before Arthur cracked a stunning smile and whispered it's meaning to his offspring. "Well, poppet-"

With all that occurring, Alfred couldn't keep his mind focused on the blighted novel before him, hell he didn't even get passed the first sentence! The American kept on staring at the two before him, his future family as the landlady foretells. Arthur's perfect smile that sent shivers down Alfred's spine, Peter's round eyes constantly brimming with curiosity, Arthur's beautiful body and rugged personality, Peter's likeness to Alfred himself… Everything about them made his heart flutter.

What a sappy sod.

Then, the class had ended. The other students filed out with hastened movements, while Alfred lingered behind for a bit. "Alfie!" Peter cried out after he was set down from Arthur's lap. His chubby baby-fat ridden legs carried the rest of Peter over to the American, which Alfred responded by picking up the little thing-such a lightweight to him-and balanced him on his squared hip.

"'Sup, lil Brit." Alfred responded as he took small steps over to Arthur's desk; the Briton showcasing a small smile at the sight.  
"His babysitter was out, so he gets to work with me for the entire day." Arthur explained, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Good thing it is, though. He knows more about great American novels and British literature than you ever will."

"Geez, that really hurt." Alfred said, wincing just a smidge as Peter looked at him with slight pride showing on his baby-features. "But I feel sorry for Pete… Having to listen to your lectures all day, this kid deserves a Purple Heart for that." He retorted, Arthur's eye visibly twitching. "If he doesn't wanna stay here, I can take him back to the apartments. I have one last class at three, so I'll just give him back before then!"

Arthur was intrigued, no doubt Peter would get rather bored later on in the day and complain about the books being taught similar to how Alfred would before them. "Would you be so kind?" He stood up from his swivel chair, arms crossed over his pathetically thin chest, and eyes staring on expectantly.

"Yeah! We can watch superhero cartoons and have an awesome lunch!"

Now Peter was struck with the sudden feeling of excitement, his smile widening bigger and bigger as if it were to overcome his baby-sized face. "Can I, Papa!"

"What's the correct saying?"

"Uh… May I, Papa!"

"Yes, you may. Just don't eat too much sugar or you'll get a stomach ache." Arthur advised while handing his son the fox animal he abandoned not too long prior.

With a quick peck being their parting kiss, Alfred disembarked from Arthur's classroom with Peter in his muscular arms. Peter was rambling on and on about what superheroes were his favorite, which was a topic already covered at the ice cream parlor earlier on, and how his father was missing out on some quality fun time-which Alfred couldn't disagree with. Some of the lingering students waiting about in front of the English building, stringing down to the parking lot even, presented the duo with bewildered looks. Wasn't that Professor Kirkland's son? Why was the kid blabbering off about superheroes? Why is that hunk of a college senior carrying that kid as if the annoying thing was his son? Luckily, the students shrugged their questions off and returned to their trivial activities by the time Alfred and Peter had reached their means of transportation.

Alfred ensured Peter was buckled up tight in the passenger's seat, stuffed Oliver lying idly in the youngster's small lap, before taking off to the apartments.  
"After you left this morning, Papa told me that you're gonna be around for awhile. Is that true?" Peter asked, as he watched the cars zoom by through the windows of the sports car-blue eyes wide with excitement.

"Yeah, I plan on bein' around for as long as I can."

"Papa's more happy with you." Peter turned his attention to Alfred, yet another huge curl to his lips present, as they reached a stop light. "My friend Wendy doesn't call him Grumpy Bear anymore!"

Alfred let out a chuckle and ruffled Peter's blonde locks underneath his hand before the red light hastily turned green and they were off once more.

Yet… There was a foreign car in the parking lot when Alfred arrived. Some sports car far nicer than what Alfred here had possessed. Peter eyed the car but nonetheless, Alfred had carried the two of them inside; where he came in contact with another oddity. Down the hall, where the landlady's room was located, there was a bleach blonde lady banging on the oak door. Her voice was booming, which inclined Peter to curl in closer to Alfred's chest due to the sudden noise.

"Open the door you old hag!" was a phrase that was repeated a million times while the lady was banging her knuckles against the door. Some… other profanities were shouted, but Alfred practically jogged up the stairs so little Peter wouldn't add anything new to his vocabulary.

Alfred and Peter arrived to the American's apartment in record time-Alfred's roommate being absent on account of school as well as a new girlfriend he picked up earlier that week. Alfred set the little Briton down on his feet in order to unlock his door and allow both of them inside. "Welcome to mi casa." Alfred announced as Peter trudged on in with uncertain steps-since the room was enveloped in darkness and the smell of rotten pizza. The little one's face still held confusion even as he was set in front of the television, and even as Alfred momentarily abandoned the room to return to his car for his backpack he left behind in his car.

Though, on the way down the stairs, he ran into the same woman who was yelling at the door. "Hey." She let out. "You know Arthur Kirkland?"

"Uh... yeah." Alfred replied, a little uneasy about this current predicament.

The lady held out a envelope for Alfred, and watched as Alfred snatched it from her ever so slowly. "Give that to him." She demanded, swishing her hair as she waked off.

Curiosity killed the cat they say, since Alfred ripped open the envelope and skimmed over the letter. The identity of the woman was solved as well as the connection to Arthur by that simple letter.

The court hearing to decide who has custody over Peter was next week.


	15. Chapter 15

'A court date... A COURT DATE!' Alfred internally screamed to himself, after skimming through the contents of the pearly white envelope. His heart began to pump faster and faster to the point where it nearly pumped free from his buff chest. Why was he fretting oh so much? That woman's fib was preposterous to begin with! Arthur would never EVER raise a fist to a lover of his, nor Peter for that matter. Arthur, hands down, was going to emerge victorious from that stuffy court room. And he, Alfred here, and little Peter were going to have a serene life afterwards... right?

With those revolting thoughts assaulting his fragile mind, Alfred shoved the letter back into it's cage. Quick thinking came into play when Alfred turned on his heels and hustled back up those annoying steps and straight into his apartment-forgetting about the backpack he originally set out for.

He returned to Peter happily humming along with the theme song to some Spider-man cartoon presented on the television. Alfred hastily stuck the envelope into the pocket of his brown bomber jacket before Peter could set his blue eyes onto it.

"Where's your backpack?" Peter asked, seeing that Alfred returned empty handed from his short expedition in the outside world.

"Oh! Uh... I forgot i don't really need it. I'm done with my other homework" Alfred lied through his teeth, though Peter had surprisingly believed in every word that was spoken. And the little thing invited the American to watch the vibrant colored cartoon alongside him.

Indeed, Alfred circled around the blue couch before plopping down besides Peter on the carpentered floor criss-cross apple sauce. Even though Peter's eyes were wide with excitement and he was happily chatting away about the episode playing before their very eyes-Alfred wasn't the east bit present in the realm of being 'Okay'. A part of his idiotic self had hoped Peter's mother would abandon the case and would allow Arthur to be happy-allow Alfred and Arthur to be happy. You know, the couple could purchase a standard American home, with a white picket fence wrapped around it and a driveway decorated in chalk drawings. A room could be set aside to be a Alfred and Arthur's joint office space. A desk for an office worker and a desk for a professor-since Alfred planned on entering his father's cooperate business after graduating with his bachelor's from college. One could bicker about their draining paperwork, while the other would simply nod their head pretending as if they were actually paying a bit of attention. Little Peter playing with his fox and the action figures Alfred had passed down to his step-s...

That's a bit too much at the current moment, isn't it?

Continuing on, Alfred wasn't entirely himself while he was absentmindedly watching the television. Yes, Peter had taken mental note of that, causing him to seal his lips after running them for ten minutes straight-in fear that he was being a bit too chatty and obnoxious to Alfred-and tended to his own knitting. The two of them lingered about in front of the television from then on. Alfred barely spoke at all, only the occasional grunt from his daydream crumbling apart, while Peter remained quiet, lips shut while he occasional looked at Alfred from the corner of his eyes.

Peter's earlier thoughts of being a bit too annoying to Alfred returned after they dined on delivered pizza for lunch. Alfred slowly ate while Peter gnawed at his pizza slices, since the temperature was over his heat tolerance, and Alfred gathered their things before disembarking from the apartment.

"Are you okay...?"

No response.

Alfred drove himself and Peter back to the university, opting for holding Peter's hand and dragging him through the shaded college grounds instead of carrying him as to what happened prior. They waited outside of the English building for the classes to be dismissed. After the flood of college students prepping for their alcoholic parties instead of completing their English essays had passed by, Alfred trudged on in with Peter reluctantly being dragged on in-nearly dropping Oliver the Fox onto the cool tiled floor beneath their feet.

When Alfred made his appearance into Arthur's classroom, the Englishman was stricken with a wave of bewilderment. Earlier, Alfred said he would return at three that very evening... not during Arthur's lunch break at twelve. "Did something happen...?" Arthur asked, as Peter detached himself from Alfred and ran to encircle his arms around his father's leg. "Did Peter do something wrong?"

"No."

"Then what...?" Arthur asked, his hand ran through Peter's blonde locks in an attempt to decipher why his son was shaking. "Then what, _you bloody prick_." The Englishman's voice rose, his voice echoing through the classroom-feeling Peter clasp on tighter to his calf and knee.

"I don't wanna say..."

"But I want to hear."

"Please..." Alfred begged, noting Arthur's growing anger. "It's gonna hurt you..."

"Let's just see if that accusation is true."

Alfred indulged in a shaky deep breath, gazing into Arthur's narrow eyes with his own eyes being filled with fear and sorrow. He retrieved the envelope, now slightly crumbled around the edges, from his pocket and held it out to his love. In return, the Englishman snatched it and tore the letter out. He unfolded it and began to skim over it with widened eyes, Alfred saw his expression slowly drop into one representing nothing after he skimmed over each line.

"One week..." Arthur let out after finishing the letter, both the letter and envelope slipping out of his hands-Peter watching it fall to his father's feet. "I have one week left with my son..."


	16. Chapter 16

Arthur's petite form was showcasing a bit of a violent tremble after he absorbed the contents of the letter he was slowly losing his grip on. He gently set such a blighted item down on his desk before placing a hand on the oak material to steady himself with. Alfred felt completely and utterly useless while watching the love of his life stare dejectedly at the tiled flooring-avoiding eye contact with his own flesh and blood attached to his leg. "One week…" He repeated to himself, a slight hint of tears forming in his breath-taking green eyes. "One b-bloody week…" Even with the support of the his cluttered desk, Arthur began to sink onto his pointy knees; causing Peter to elicit a noise of confusion before unclamping his arms from his father's skinny leg. The Englishman hit the floor with a quiet 'thump' resonating from underneath him, eyes still casted down on the monocolor floors with his crystal blue tears finally breaking past the cracked dam.

Alfred felt his shoulders go lax, rolling back as he took two quiet steps to reach Arthur. "Artie." He called out, voice smooth and full of comfort, while Peter was simply observing the broken Arthur he's never seen once in his short life.

"It was bound to happen, right?" Arthur's voice wavered, switching back and forth from a heavy to a light English accent. "I lose everything in the end! My father left, my siblings despise me, I've never been able to keep one friend… and my mother passed away a day before I came here." The Englishman's voice became more and more hushed in volume, while hd tugged at the end of his red tie to distract himself from the two set of eyes upon him. "And now my son... What blighted comedy of errors is she writing for me? One drunken mistake is now my life." His body began to cave into itself, curling into itself being the more precise action. "And he's leaving me."

Peter's eyes widened he finally comprehended everything that has been and was occurring around him; he finally understood. "I don't wanna leave you, Papa..." He cried, his bottom lip puffing out just a smidge.

Alfred sank to his own knees, being level height with Arthur-well, an inch or two taller. "She won't win." He said, the only words he could spit out at that very moment. "She can't." He added on, his voice fading away on the last word he spoke as he encircled his arms around Arthur's shivering body.

'I won't let her.'

The American boy brought the Briton to his chest, one hand locked tightly around Arthur's waist and the other petting his messy blonde locks-before the arm extended out to welcome Peter into the group hug. Peter's head was occasionally rained on with his father's tears, if the liquid substance wasn't absorbed by Alfred's bomber jacket in the meantime. Arthur held Peter in his arms, holding him into his body with an immense amount of pressure being used; fearing that if he let go, then Peter's mother would steal him away. Peter remained limp in his arms, gripping onto his father's brown suit jacket with minimal force and had sealed off his eyes; attempting to savor this moment as Arthur and Alfred were.

They remained as so for quite the chunk if the professor's lunch break, in a group hug for a little over twenty minutes before Arthur began to loosen his grip and allowed Peter dome breathing room. Alfred had one arm slung around Arthur's waist, the Englishman remaining in his lap. Every muscle in Arthur's body had loosened up as he blinked away any forsaken tears.

"C'mon." Alfred let out, his voice beaming due to the lack of noise twenty minutes prior. "Take off the rest of the day, and start your weekend early." He boasted, his sudden positivity seeping into Peter and alerting Arthur. "You can relax, calm down, take a nap, and Peter and I will be there whenever you need us!" He offered, Peter nodding his head slowly with the spoken idea.

Arthur pushed himself off-with a hand on Alfred's rock hard chest, his student before rubbing the sleeve of his jacket to his precious eyes. "You're going to experience hell for offering that."

"I know."

They returned home a few short moments passed-taking separate vehicles with Peter tagging along with his father. Alfred led Arthur up the steps, a large hand pressed against the curve of his back gently pushing him forward, as Peter happily skipped behind them. They reached the Kirkland apartment, and Arthur ventured off into the bathroom to indulge in a much needed bubble bath-allowing Alfred a second chance of caring for Peter.

While morphing into a prune in the soapy water, Arthur was in quite the immense thought process. He watched the bubbles of his bath pop and create swirls of white in the clear water with glossed over eyes as he contemplated his future in the coming week. Perhaps he could converse with the landlady and discuss her providing a testimony for the case, since she first held Peter before Arthur ever did. He'll have to comfort his boss and say that he needed that day off desperately, since his absences from school are really infuriating the dean. Peter would stay in the apartments, with a hired babysitter since Alfred would undeniably want to attend the court hearing. However, the thought process ended when Arthur dunked his head under the water; the hot water burning his eyelids and his lungs aching for another breath of air. But, after surveying his prune-esque fingertips, Arthur deciding that he soaked in the water and his own filth enough for that day. He drained the sea green colored bathtub, dried himself off, and changed into the pajamas he brought in before climbing into the hot water.

Peter was off taking his afternoon nap early, one that would last for an hour and thirty minutes, and had left Alfred and Arthur in each others company. They rested in the living room, on the worn couch, sitting hip-to-hip while Arthur was wrapped in a quilted blanket his mother crafted before her demise. Alfred had one arm slung over Arthur's covered shoulders, as Arthur kept his gaze dead set on the letter the hovered on the coffee table. No matter where those emerald eyes rested on, it would always falter back to the letter. The bland drama that inhabits twelve o'clock soap operas couldn't hold Arthur's attention, the sweet nothings Alfred occasionally whispered went unnoticed by Arthur, and the chapped lips belonging to Alfred nipping at the Englishman's neck and faintly freckled cheeks were unnoted by Arthur who didn't reciprocate the motions.

Alfred wouldn't allow this.

His non-throughly planned attempt to please Arthur began with one swift movement. His lips planted firmly onto Arthur's own-after tilting the Englishman's head to his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, the English professor kept staring at the letter, as if he was captivated by it's melodic siren's song. Well, of course he was rescued from that trance after Alfred had laid him down on his back; the younger promising he'd take care of Arthur.

"What are you doing?" Arthur whispered.

"Keeping your mind of things."

They migrated to Arthur's bedroom, ensuring the door was closed and Peter was fast asleep, before Arthur allowed himself to be pinned down. His short lived breaths, quiet compared to the occasional grunt Alfred released, caused his mind to become blurry-any rationalizing was thrown out the window as he indulged in this momentary escape with Alfred.

And it worked. Alfred knew it would, of course, or else his brain would've stepped in for a more rational execution.

After seeing that Arthur was sound asleep, the sheets and comforter raised to his chest and his bang sticking to his forehead, Alfred left the bedroom-closing the door behind him after triple checking he was dressed. Peter poked his head out from his bedroom, tired blue eyes scanning Alfred as he inquired the status of his father.

"He's okay, Lil Brit. He just needs some sleep."


	17. Chapter 17

Arthur's slim legs curled into his equally as slim body, the sheets wrinkled beneath his form and his mind hazy and reeling from the experience presumably a few hours prior. A soft groan became muffled through his sealed lips, one hand swishing his blonde bangs away from his tired eyes and his pointed elbow aided with the elevation of his bare torso off the bed. The hand originally placed on his hair extended out and landed on the empty sheets Alfred was twisting and turning in once before. The English professor's eyesight altered back to it's original, clear, stance as the sod realized;

He sure looked the part of a hot mess.

Arthur scoffed to himself as he plummeted back down onto the welcoming bed-his head landing just shy of his worn pillow. He took note of the dull pain pulsing from his lower-half and the little aching pains littered across his neck and shoulders. Without even a bit of deducing, Arthur accurately placed the blame onto Alfred; yet Arthur wasn't upset in the slightest. No, a giddy feeling was bubbling in his stomach proved that our cranky Briton here was as happy as they come.

He hadn't realized how infatuated with his student he was.

As if fate was gazing into that very apartment, the doorknob turned oh so slowly before in came Alfred-blue eyes sparkling and even more so once seeing that Arthur was awake and was simply lounging about. "'Sup." He said, carefully closing the door-as if he was suppressing the noises-before plopping down on his side of the bed. He watched his teacher crane his arm and placed it under his head as he glanced up at Aled with those dazzling eyes of his. "I just put Peter to bed, you were out for the count for a while there."

Arthur hummed lowly in acceptance, every fiber of his being going lax as if he was a spoiled cat prepping for yet another nap. He smelled faintly of sweat, assorted tea leaves, and overwhelmingly of raw sex that was clouded about in the room; enough of an enticing smell that it inclined Alfred to lie down on his side and fling an arm over the perfect, effeminate, curve of Arthur's hip-that was concealed by a thin veil of sheets. The American and the Englishman relished in one another's presence, well, Alfred was at least. Arthur seemed as if he were trapped in a separate realm. His eyes were dead set on Alfred's clothed chest-as his forehead was centimeters away from colliding with it-yet he wasn't gazing at Alfred. No, he was staring right through the student, at the mint colored walls boxing them in.

He was pondering about Peter and the trial once more. He was pondering about losing it all.

"Artie?" Alfred called out, voice lou and barely consoling yet it broke Arthur free from that dead-eyed trance. "Stop thinking 'bout it."

"I'm not-"

"Yes you are."

Alfred felt a puff of hot air impact and fan across his clothed chest, that was delivered alongside an irritated sigh. Arthur shifted a bit, flipping onto his other side and facing away from Alfred. "I have a right to think about it."

The junior sighed, his arm still lazily slung around Arthur despite of the position changed. There was an obvious distaste on Alfred's part whenever the subject of the court trial popped back into his professor's brain space. He attempted to distract him from it all, devote all his attention and shower him with affection, he laid him down and ravished him. Yet, the afterglow from such an event wasn't enough firepower to keep Arthur's mind distracted from it all.

And it didn't just bring pain to Arthur.

Arthur felt the bed wobble just the slightest as more weight was placed onto his side of the bed. He soon felt Alfred's cheek make contact with his bruised neck and the junior mold against his bare naked body. "That doesn't mean you should."

The next morning came about after a few prolonged kisses and a quick nap until it was six in the morning. Arthur was the first to cleanse himself of yesterday's escapades, as he simply reeked of that stench, as Alfred ventured back to his own apartment for a quick change of clothes and some scalding hot water rolling down his back from the faucet above his head. He returned to Arthur preparing his tea, a copy of Atlas Shrugged lodged in his hands, lingering by the stove top. His eyebrows were furrowed but he wasn't scanning the contents the novel had to offer. His emerald eyes were placed above where the novel was laid in his line of sight. He wasn't glancing at the warmed water either.

Once more he was off in his own world.

Alfred felt a sigh puncture through his lips as he was about to approach him, and that's when he noticed it.

Peter's mother was sitting on the couch.


	18. Chapter 18

The gorgeous woman on the couch glanced over at Alfred with those beautiful eyes, enhanced a few years back while she was under the knife, of hers. "My-my, who are you, dear?" She asked, eyes brimming with unrelenting curiosity. "I didn't expect any visitors at-" She fished her bedazzled cell phone out of her plaid fashion jacket. She clicked on her cell phone and glanced at the time that was prominently displayed. "Seven-twenty this fine morning." She concluded, sounding as if she inhabited that apartment with Arthur for several years. "Arthur? Do you know him?"  
Alfred saw Arthur tense up in the kitchen, setting down his book in due process. His shoulders shot up and his posture was as straight as a piece of plywood. Alfred couldn't imagine what excuses were shooting through Arthur's mind at that very moment in time.

"I'm his student."  
The American noticed Arthur shoot him a look that consisted of pure fear, as the woman crossed her arms over her plump chest and stuck her tiny nose up into the air as if she was a bloodhound catching the scent of some quality gossip.

"He's got his hands full with grading and all, so I take care of Peter whenever he needs me." Alfred tactfully tacked on, saving both himself and Arthur-hell, Peter for that matter-from a near certain demise. "He texted a little bit ago."  
"Peter's in his room." Arthur announced, playing along with the ruse as he placed two tea bags into a duel set of porcelain tea cups. "He should be up by now."  
With a curt nod, Alfred traveled by the couch and physically felt Madame X's eyes pierce through his body-something that caused Alfred to shiver in his skin-as he vanished down the tiny hallway and quietly entered Peter's bedroom.

The little one was sitting up in his bed. His blonde hair was tousled from sleep and his blue eyes were becoming dilated due to the sunlight seeping through the parted curtains, and landing on his messy mop of hair. He blinked rapidly as Alfred allowed himself in, and accidentally let Oliver freefall from the very edge of his bed to the cool floor below. The youngster released a yawned that mimicked the sound of a lion's roar before he greeted with, "Good morning…' as he unhappily glanced down at Oliver on the floor.

"Mornin', Lil Brit." Alfred replied, avoiding an obstacle maze of multi-colored legos to plop down in the wooden chair in the corner. "Just got up?"

Peter nodded, bangs swishing down against his eyes as he placed his worn baby blanket around his tiny shoulders. A feminine voice could be heard then, muffled still, but was slowly progressing to becoming louder in and louder in tone-while conversing over the lovely tea Arthur had brewed for them. "Who's that Alfie? Geez, she's loud…" Peter cupped a single hand over one of his earlobe.

"Uh… It's no one, just some sitcom your dad is crying over." Alfred lied, honing his skills of lying through his teeth that the previous statement flowed out as if it were the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "He said you could sleep in, if you want… you kinda need it."

"Father never lets me sleep in."  
"Um… He said you could today."  
"What about breakfast."  
"Sleep 'till lunch."  
"Are you sure… cause that voice sounds like my mama's."  
The prospect that Alfred here was just caught fibbing wasn't as horrendous to ponder about than the fact that Peter knew the shrieking of his mother's voice upon a single hearing.

"Mama's here."  
The voice became even more louder, yet the walls and closed door concealed any words she was sewing together. Her tone was sharp and Peter was able to identify the speaker.

"She sounds mad."  
Her voice kept on overpowering a quieter, softer, masculine vocal-to Alfred, it was still as smooth as honey despite the muffling the walls were inducing. Alfred sighed before agreeing with what Peter had said, before migrating to the bedside to retrieve the stuffed fox and return it to its loving owner.

"I hope she isn't a meanie to Father."  
"Yeah, same."  
The two of them sat in silence and intently listened to the conversation happening just outside that door. Something dealing with the impending court date, yet the details became lost in the walls. Peter blinked himself back to sleep, yawning every now and again and blinking his sealed eyelids in his slumber, while he was clutching Oliver to his chest. And Alfred crafted some unknown specimen out of legos, that he placed on Peter's dresser for later use. All while the argument came to a crescendo and quite literally ended with a bang-a clash to be more precise. The apartment rattled as the mother slammed the door closed as she left. There was an incredibly long pause before Alfred heard the breaking of glass and the shards having hit a solid surface. Which inclined our American hero here to spring up from the floor and make a dash to the kitchen.

Arthur's back was turned to Alfred, his hands dipped into the sink and attracted the attention of Arthur's sorrowful emerald orbs. Upon a closer inspection, it just so happened to be that the Englishman here shattered the tea cup while he was over the sink-with his bare, fragile, hands. His fingers uncurled themselves from the palm of his hand, revealing shards lodged into his pale skin, they were shaking as faint pulses of pain traveled through his hands.

"What a shame." Arthur said, his voice cracking just a smidge. "I'll have to clean this cup up now…" He began to meticulously pick the shards of glass splinters out of his skin, hissing under his breath.

"What happened?" Alfred inquired, a slight edge to his voice as he carefully scanned the scene.

"Just look at the counter."  
Turning his head to the area Arthur had gestured to, Alfred saw a slip of paper neatly resting on top of a beige folder. Peter's birth certificate laying on top of a folder containing various baby photos. As much as Alfred wanted, oh so wanted, to denounce the photos as fake, the injuries Peter was sporting in those photos were all too real. The bruises to his chubby cheeks, rashes near his bottom due to neglect, and red spots indicating a slapping had occurred-just to name a few.

Alfred gritted his teeth and gripped the photos while trying to contain the bubbling anger surging within him.

"She abused my son… and I hadn't even known he existed."


	19. Chapter 19

With a menacing grunt surging up from his chest, Alfred tore his eyes away from those incriminating pictures. He placed his pained gaze back onto Arthur, and watched as the elder observed his now bloody hands.

Those hands, despite the obvious blood flowing out of the cuts caused by the porcelain glass, they appeared different to Alfred. The night prior, those hands were as gentle as they come. They caressed and tugged at Alfred's hair with such caution-as the owner emitted little groans and quiet gasps in Alfred's ear-and sent a sensation of tingles wherever the hands traveled on Alfred's bare skin. Now, they looked as if they were curling in, like the talons on a predator bird, and ready to kill. To strangle the breath out of the girl he once laid with, all to extort revenge on the wretched soul.

"Wait!" The gears in Alfred's head began to turn and crush the cobble webs that formed over the years. "We can use these against her-"

"No." Arthur interrupted, indulging in a deep breath as he himself thought. "She can and will use those against me. If I destroy them, she'll claim I destroyed evidence and will pop out another set. If I bring them to the court then she'll accuse me of stealing the photos." He explained, lowering his head and accidentally showcasing tiny purple bruises dotting his neck. "She's a stupendous actor, is she not?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes as he removed his hands from the counter top. His chest heaved up and down with aggressive breaths as he stated. "Not good enough." A faint curl to his lips appeared as he continued. "The whole victim card doesn't work well with her appearance, y'know?"

The American disembarked from the incriminating pictures and returned back to his precious Arthur. He placed a larger hand on the small of the Englishman's back as the elder ran cool water from the faucet on his delicate wounds. Alfred noted a slight feeling of amusement pooling in those eyes of Arthur's, and watched Arthur reach for a clean towel to dry off his now clean wounds.

"What a terrific start to my day! What will happen next, I wonder. Maybe I'll be diagnosed with cancer, maybe Peter will wander into the street and never come back, perhaps you and I will break things off. Wouldn't that be splendid!"

"Don't push it."

Arthur released a quick puff of air harboring in his lungs as a short-lived chuckle of sorts, as be repositioned his collar to hide the hickies Alfred had gifted to him earlier. Then, he closed his eyes, becoming immersed in an imaginary world hidden behind his eyelids as a soft padding echoed through the nearby corridor. Alfred removed hid hand from the wrinkled fabric shielding Arthur's back as he turned his attention to the archway leading in to the kitchen. Peter's disheveled self appeared in the archway. He seemed more... Vibrant than how Alfred had left him, his eyes were bright when they landed in his father and potential step-father.

"Sup lil-"

"Good morning, poppet." Arthur interrupted, unveiling his eyes and turning his gaze onto Peter. "I know your cartoons are on today, but, how about we go out today." With that sudden statement having been said, both Alfred and Peter looked at Arthur with bewilderment smothering any other feelings in their faces. "We haven't done that in awhile, now, have we? Just you and me."

Oh yes, Alfred wasn't invited to that tea party.

Nonetheless, Peter gasped with excitement as he fiddled with the button on top of his pajamas. "You mean it?"

The Englishman nodded his head, a natural smile forming on his lips. "Yes, this time I mean it. Go get washed up and we'll leave."

Peter himself nodded and hurried along, his feet sliding against the floor, to the privy. Arthur was about to head to that room as well, in order to assist Peter with drawing a bath, but he was promptly stopped by Alfred's hand on but he was promptly stopped by Alfred's hand on

hid slim bicep. "Yes?"

"You sure you wanna go?"

"If something horrible is written in my future, then I'm going to have a jolly good time before it happens."

"Nothin' bad-"

"Neither of us know that."

Peter's shrill voice calling for Arthur reached the couple. Inclining Alfred relieve his grip on the elder-his fingertips sliding down Arthur's arm-before Arthur headed off to the bathroom. Alfred released a sigh, as he heard the faucet spewing clear water, before he traveled to the door and allowed himself out; giving Arthur and Peter some space.

The American returned to his apartment-his roommate lounging about a chugging a pot of coffee that caused his green eyes to nearly pop out of his skull-and remained stationed there for the remainder of the day. Pouting as if he was recently dumped by a lover. (Which his roommate commented on more than one measly time.) If Arthur wished to spend time bonding with Peter, so be it, Alfred just had to learn what acceptance is.

Then, right as Alfred was about to succumb to slumber-at the very early time of eight-thirty-his phone buzzer and in came a text from Professor Kirkland.

'Sorry for acting distant this morning.'

Alfred pondered for a quick second as to why Arthur had his cell phone number, then he remembered the olde tutoring sessions that slowly turned into excuses for a kiss whenever Peter was napping; yet he still texted back, as any gentleman would.

'It's all good i understand :)'

'Good, I was hoping you would so I wouldn't seem an arse.'

Alfred laughed his obnoxious laugh as his thumbs smacked against the lightened screen. 'U always are a arse.'

'Stop being sentimental.'

'Honestly, i was telling the truth.'

'I know, things are getting harder and harder now. It's nice to have someone around.'

'U don't tell Peter that...'

'Does he need to know that your method of helping made my room smell like sweat?'

'Does it still smell like that?'

'Not as bad now... but I made my point.'

'How about we fix that ;)'

'You horny bastard... ah, youth.'

* * *

 **AN: Sorry for the prolonged absence, I just returned from a trip and updates should return to a weekly schedule now!**


	20. Chapter 20

The wretched day of the trial arrived faster than anyone expected. One night Alfred and Arthur were texting and giggling like teenagers in love, the next Alfred was laying in Arthur's bed prepping his lover for the coming day. He and Arthur laid on their sides, and were facing each other with a melancholy undertone to their facial expressions. Alfred's hand was running up and down Arthur's clothed side, with a slow rhythm to his movements, as Arthur's hands were clasped together at Alfred's chest and were toying with the dog-tag once belonging to a deceased uncle in the Jones family. He was turning the silver piece around in the cup of his hand, running his finger over the scripture engraved in it, yet not indulging in a quick moment to glance over the words.

It was ten o'clock at night, and the court hearing was exactly ten hours from then. Arthur wasn't prepping to walk into the court and state that his former lover was a pathological liar and a child abuser, before metaphorically dropping the mic and leaving with a triumph skip to his step. No, Arthur was being consoled before he succumbed to slumber and prepped for a life changing moment. Alfred was strictly there for motivational support, and to profusely apologize since he can not attend tomorrow's hearing due to unreliable babysitters. Alfred was to watch over Peter while the landlady agreed to be an eyewitness in favor of Arthur.

Now all that was left was the verdict. Which they would have to wait twelve plus hours in order to hear.

"How about after the hearing tomorrow, we go out. We'll give Lil' Artie to Miss Héderváry, so you and me can have a nice dinner-lunch-thing." Alfred announced, a smile to his face as his eyebrows were raised slightly in anticipation. He watched Arthur squint his eyes and part his lips as he heard the question; removing his hold on the dog-tag as he did so.

"You phrased that as if I'm scripted to win."

"You aren't?"

"Stop being so bloody optimistic, you're going to make me puke."

Alfred felt the shoulder not making contact with the bed jump as a genuine soft laugh rippled through his chest. "One of us has to be."

Arthur's facial expression mellowed out, returning to something that was bland to look at yet it indicated he wasn't going to burst into sobs.

The atmosphere in the bedroom slowly returned to a tense, yet void, air surrounding them. The grandfather clocks ticking from the living space echoed through the halls and through the closed door, Arthur counting each tick he heard. "What will happen, though... If I lose."

"Let's not-"

"What?"

Alfred sighed in disapproval as he sat on up, removing any body part of his off of Arthur as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stop being such a downer."

"A realistic downer."

Alfred fell back down onto the cream colored bed, the back of his head smacking against the fluffed pillow as his hands were laced together and resting on his abdomen. "Who needs to see the bright side of life."

Arthur rolled his eyes to the back of his skull as he too rolled onto his back. Reaching out to the lamp, standing up on the nightstand, to extinguish the artificial light shining on their skin. The tips of Arthur's feet came together to form a pyramid, detaching and tapping against each other as a form of entertainment in the silent room. There was a wrinkle of clothing and a rustle to the comforter beneath them before Arthur felt a puff of breath blow across his ear-that smelled of hamburgers and sugar despite the amount of minty fresh toothpaste that was used-and a rougher hand latch onto his.

"If you do lose, I'll still be here."

Arthur felt his breath hitch in his throat. Regardless of tomorrow's outcome, his future would contain his dearest Alfred. Even if he wasn't granted the gift of watching Peter grow up, he'd still have Alfred remain loyal at his side and help him through the toughest of times. And that, my dears, struck a bit of hope in the solemn English professor. Enough so, that he returned to his previous position-feeling Alfred's breath tickle his nose and cheeks-and tried his best to place his gaze on Alfred's eyes in the pitch black darkness. "You so sure about that? You're still young. Who's to say I'm just a quick fling."

"Babe, I'm tired of partying. I'd rather watch Saturday morning cartoons with Peter than get over a hangover."

"Wise choice."

* * *

They fell asleep in each others embrace after a brief discussion of the future. Welcoming in the rising sun as they slept, and woke up at seven the following morning. Arthur awoke with a panicked tint to his eyes before he untangled himself from Alfred to prepare for the sickening day ahead of him-the younger rising from bed shortly after to venture off to his apartment to ditto what Arthur was doing.

Arthur's classes were cancelled that day, for obvious reasons of course, so Alfred didn't have to do his daily commute to school. Making him the opportune babysitter for Peter during the hearing. So, when it was nine o'clock that sunny morning, he got to witness a teary departure between father and son.

"I don't know what's going to happen today... And I haven't been so scared in my entire life..." Arthur admitted, kneeling down on the carpeted floor to be at Peter's eye level. "There's a fifty-fifty shot of me losing you today." He placed his hands on Peter's curved shoulders, that indented just a smidge into his body. "And you won't be able to see me ever again..."

Peter's eyes widened at the prospect of being ripped apart from his father, and Alfred of course. He couldn't fathom a life where he wasn't read challenging stories by his father, where he wasn't feed horrendous and numbing food by his father, where he wasn't able to be comforted with heartwarming words and hoarse lullabies by his father. And it frightened him down into his core. "Papa... If this is a joke, please-"

"As much as I would love for it to be a joke... It just isn't." Arthur interrupted, seeing tears prickle at his son's eyes.

"If I lose, I promise I'll try my best to be with you. I'll write you letters, send you books, send you my world famous scones." Arthur's fingertips brushed away at Peter's bangs.

"I can't eat your scones without you..." He pouted out his bottom lip, as a stream of tears ran down from the corner of his eyes. Causing Arthur to reel in Peter into a delicate hug. One of Arthur's hands were fastened at Peter's side, and the other was cradling the back of the blonde boy's head. The elder Briton's eyes were screwed shut, as Peter sobbed and sobbed on Arthur's shoulder.

Yet, it came to that point where Arthur had to peel Peter off of him. Pecking his forehead with a loving kiss, before handing the child over to Alfred. And the pleas that Peter was producing became hideous shrills that became louder and louder when Arthur got closer to the front door. And reached the optimal volume when Arthur had left.


	21. Chapter 21

Time seemed to move along as slow as a snail does when the trial had begun. Alfred and Peter sat in the Kirkland's living room without speaking to one another. Cheerful theme songs and pip-squeaky voices sprung out of the television's speakers, and each tick from the grandfather clock were present in order to replace the painful silence between the two. Alfred vigorously tapped his foot against the floor-a habit he once held that dissolved over time but had resurfaced for this very moment-as he nibbled on his bottom lip with his two front teeth. And Peter kept his attention glued to the television in hopes the shows would help usher cruel tine along, so he could see his father once more.

Peter eventually glanced over at Alfred, his shoulders hunched up and partially concealing his mouth. His eyes were shining with fear and uncertainty, something Alfred would never imagine to be harboring inside a child of his age, as he parted his small pink lips to say. "I-If Papa loses… W-will you s-still be with him?"

And that was most certainly a question Alfred never expected from a child his age.

"Y-yeah!" Alfred replied, forcing his normal beaming smile onto his face, and his voice attempting to be it's normal obnoxious self. "But don't worry, your dad isn't going to lose." Alfred tried to reassure, in the end he wasn't even reassuring himself. He wasn't so confident in Arthur's case anymore. The tearful farewell featuring Peter that morning had casted away his thoughts for a hopeful outcome. The speech Arthur gave. It was as if he poured his heart out, as best he could, since he knew Peter wouldn't be in his care after that horrendous day.

Peter was simply hoping Alfred was right. He knew wholeheartedly that his father wasn't the best at his job. His father was a book nerd who built his hobby into a profession, and Peter wasn't intended to be a part of the equation. But Arthur made things work along the way, their path being a bit of a bumpy one. And Peter had hoped he wouldn't be ripped away from his father and now Alfred.

The little Briton sighed and returned his attention to the vividly colored world presented on the television. His fingers curling into his palm and nails digging into the clammy, sweaty, flesh, as he furrowed his eyebrows and sealed off his blue eyes-the tears finally leaking through and slithering down his natural blushing cheeks and plopping onto his lap. Peter produced a strangled cry, swirling with sadness and uncertainty, and brought his knees to his chest acting as if he was just yelled at by his father for throwing a fit.

After hearing that pained cry, Alfred glanced back over at Peter with widened eyes. He wasn't entirely sure as to what he was supposed to do. Comfort? Watch? Listen? Well, he was all ready listening. The high-pitched wailing-so very similar to the disgusting sounding sobs Arthur would make-erupting from the small child, Peter's heart being torn in two alongside Arthur's and Alfred's. Sighing deeply, a wave of sorrow washing over him head to toe, Alfred slowly and haphazardly encased his arms around the shivering Peter. One arm around his small waist and the other around his shoulders, and Peter accepted this comfort, his loud sobbing being muffled when he buried his face into Alfred's shoulder.

"Hey-hey, Lil Dude…" Alfred began, the right words needed to comfort Peter not coming to mind. "Hey…"

Though Peter's voice was muffled, being blocked by the leather and wool of Alfred's bomber jacket, Alfred was able to make out these words, "I don't wanna go… I don't wanna go to Mum…"

Every word that was ready to pour out of Alfred's mouth was captured by an invisible trap in his throat. He wasn't expecting Peter to say that, hell he wasn't expecting any of this to happen when he kissed Arthur for the first time. The only thing Alfred could do was to hold Peter, and listen to the little one's emotions pour out in the form of wails and shrieks.

Even if it meant holding to Peter when the trial was over, and Arthur had returned home.

When those two heard a key enter the lock and the creaky front door swing open, their gaze immediately went over to the door to see who was there. As expected, Arthur was there, his back facing them. When Alfred and Peter stood up onto their feet and hustled on over to the front door Alfred softly saying "Babe…" when he was close enough for Arthur to here, Arthur set his breifcase on the floor before his own arms went around his own waist.

"Papa…?" Peter said, moving over to be at Arthur's side. Arthur's shoulder began to shake as he silently began to cry, falling onto the floor and sitting on his knees, curling into himself as his cries became louder in volume. Peter's eyebrows furrowed as his lips were parting and forming an 'O' shape, before he tugged on Arthur's jacket sleeve-hoping the verdict would be spilled by his father. "Am I… Do I have to go?" Peter asked, his voice hoarse.

Alfred stepped closer to the pair, hands forced down at his sides, his blue eyes were scanning his sobbing lover. However, he wasn't able to decipher how Arthur here was feeling. His sobs didn't harbor any feelings. They were just…. empty. And it pained Alfred down to his core, not being able to console Peter earlier and now Arthur.

Arthur lifted his head up, glancing over at Peter with widened green eyes. In one swift movement, Arthur cradeled the back of Peter's head and brought the little one closer to his chest. "I…" He started, sniffling up snot in his nose before a smile broke out onto his lips. "I won, Peter… We won."


	22. Chapter 22

The entire room was engulfed in absolute silence, save for the collective breathing of the trio present. Peter's chin was rested on Arthur's shoulder, his blue eyes wide with the utmost confusion as Arthur hugged his arms down to his sides. He was gazing at Alfred, praying that he hadn't succumbed to slumber and this was all simply a dream, though in the end he began another crying spell of his and inhaled his father's scent as he wept. Alfred simply stood there, his knees locked causing him to be immobile. Parts of his brain were still trying to rack together the information Arthur shared; how was this even remotely possibly, how did Arthur manage to win, what will Peter's mother do now? However, Alfred gleefully accepted the verdict-as it meant that he would be together with Arthur and lending a hand with Peter from then on-he decided that the embrace by the front door wasn't anything he should affiliate himself with. He had only waltzed into their lives a few months prior, and he should allow those two some space-they deserve it after all. Finding the feeling in his legs once more, Alfred began to back away, that all-knowing goofy grin of his worming its way onto his face. Backing himself into the kitchen space, all while Peter's sobs were shushed by Arthur's soft voice.

* * *

With his promise before, still fresh in his memory, Alfred had decided it would be best to take Arthur out for a night on the town. The American had to pry Peter away from his father, after Arthur had answered Alfred's call in the kitchen while carrying the little thing, in order for the Englishman to prepare himself for the date. (Peter literally kicking and screaming as he was dropped off to the landlady on the first floor.) Alfred returned a bit later, after freshening himself up of course, to find Arthur all ready to go. And now there they are, a mile away from Alfred's car resting on a bench in a vacant park. The cool spring breeze pecked at their cheeks and rustled their hair, as they stared out at the calm pond just a few feet in front of them. Their food truck dinner was radiating warmth in their bellies, and the afterglow from the trial was still fresh in Arthur's demeanor. Nothing could ruin this, and they both knew it.

"You're graduating soon, correct?" Arthur began, averting his gaze from the ducks swimming in the pool to Alfred beside him. "In a few weeks."

"Oh yeah." Alfred remarked, leaning back in the bench. "Will you and Peter be there?"

"From what my fellow co-workers say, it is mandatory to go though I haven't gone since I've been hired… But I'll be glad to go for you."

Now it was officially the time for the famous Alfred F. Jones grin to bust out from it's hiding place. Arthur remembers seeing it on two occasions, whenever Alfred was hunting for a lie to use when his homework was left uncompleted and the second instance being the night he and Arthur were twisted together in the sheets. It was indeed pleasant to see it again.

"That settles it!" Alfred boasted and causing the ducks waddling towards them to scamper. " At my graduation, we'll be official. No more hiding, no more secret stuff, y'know all that jazz."

"We're not hiding right now, as a matter of fact."

"We're in an empty park, babe. Nothing kills a date more than that."

"Can't that be relaxing though?"

"For you, yeah."

"And for you, love, no."

"Look, we're so close that we finish each other's thoughts. That's so cool!"

"We also managed to get so far off track."

"Oh yeah… graduation." Alfred said as Arthur shook his head in response. "After my graduation, I'm gonna move outta the apartments."

Arthur furrowed his bushy eyebrows at Alfred´s remark, before squinting his eyes a bit in confusion. "That's a rather big step." He sighed a bit in disappointment, seeing that this fabled move would force them farther apart-and Alfred's roommate would begin inviting the entirety of the complex over for a rave.

Nonetheless, Alfred continued on with his smile. "And I'm gonna take you with me."

"Now that's an even larger step…" Arthur admitted, feeling completely stumped by these new revelations that Alfred has had in his mind for months now. "...are you so sure you want to?"

Alfred was taken back a bit, cocking his head a bit to the left as he was left processing Arthur's question towards him. "What're you sayin'?"

Arthur indulged in a deep breath before letting it free moments later. As much as he didn't want to say what he was about to, it had to be. "You're still young. You're still in college. And you're choosing me? Love, you have so much more time to explore, and you're sticking with me? A man who's made treasure troves of mistakes in the past, one in which resulting in a child. Wouldn't you prefer a bit more time to look?" He stated, stepping off his soap box momentarily as he patiently waited for this new verdict

Which Alfred didn't take very much time to ponder on. "I mean… I see where you're gettin' at, but I've had my fair share of dates. It's time to pick-"

"In your twenties? Picking is more in your thirties now, love."

"You're in your twenties too, your point is invalid." Alfred said as he stuck out his tongue before trying to steer right back on track. "It'd be nice to spend the rest of my life with ya. We can bicker all day." Arthur chuckled at Alfred's statement. "Now I think it's time we start lookin' at open houses."


	23. Epilogue (Happy End)

After the trial was a time for peace and prosperity. Even after Alfred and Arthur decided it would be best to break things off between them, but only momentarily. Once they had the calm chat of having their own home, they came up with a little plan of their own. They were to break up with one another, or in more of an optimistic term 'take a break', and allow Arthur to heal after the fiasco with Peter's mother. Yet, they were to start things up where they left off immediately following Alfred's graduation when Alfred wasn't Arthur's student anymore. From then on, they would be searching for their first house together. It seemed so pointless and so simplistic when Alfred and Arthur talked it over.

Yet, there was a gaping hole in Arthur's chest after the first week of their little break. His bed felt so incredibly cold, taking care of Peter required a bit more effort on Arthur's part like it had from the very beginning, and it required so much willpower not to pick up his cell phone and invite Alfred over to spend the night.

It wasn't easy for Alfred either. It felt odd to be the typical college student again. Being invited to parties and guzzling down shot after shot, yet rejecting every advance thrown at him by a swarming crowd of drunk ladies. Not staying behind after class to tell Arthur his latest batch of playful flirts that the Englishman found incredibly cheesy, however he still blushed nonetheless. Not being able to spend as much time with Peter as he had before, not being able to stay up with the child nor watch those Saturday morning cartoons alongside him. And especially not being there beside Arthur whenever the elder was grading the papers spread out on the comforter of his bed; having Arthur sit in his lap as Alfred here rested his head on Arthur's bony shoulder and not-so-patiently waited for the Englishman to hurry on up.

To put it bluntly, every moment felt like pure agony. And the only thing needed for arthur to have a full recovery was to appear after graduation. Which, for some, came quicker than expected, since they were thrown up on stage for a slip of paper and a handshake-though it felt as if they were fresh-faced seniors only a week ago. Yet, Alfred practically ran upon that stage for the slip of paper he paid thousands for and hurried along to his seat so the ceremony could end.

Four-hundred students, five speeches, and one suicidal thought on Alfred's part later-and the ceremony was over. Alfred F. Jones was free to be with Arthur Kirkland now. With one simple text from Arthur reading 'Get your bloody arse over to my classroom' their relationship was in full bloom once again.

Shedding his tacky graduation cap and matching robe on the way there, Alfred was all smiles and giggles as he walked through his old college campus-the sunlight shining down on him as the wind softly blew through his hair. As he reached the English building, Alfred sucked in a deep breath before pushing open the double doors and navigating his way to Arthur's classroom. Upon entering that sacred room, he saw Arthur with his back to him, glancing at the chalkboards that were lazily cleaned and making out remnants of his cursive writing with the white chalk. And Alfred felt like a love-struck baboon upon sight.

"Yo, Artie!" He called out, catching Arthur's attention as evident by the elder turning his head over his shoulder to glance over at Alfred. Alfred set his discarded graduation articles down onto one of the vacant chairs before making a move towards Arthur. "I'm one-hundred percent done with this school now."

"Yes, I know, I suffered through the ceremony as you did." Arthur said as he turned his entire body, not just his head, around to face Alfred. "I suppose we can date again."

"Are we goin' from where we left off, or are we startin' over?" Alfred asked, slyly snaking his arms around Arthur's waist and tugging the Englishman towards him.

Playing along, Arthur placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders, palms accounting for the curve in which the shoulders connected to Alfred's back. "Where did we leave off with?"

"A kiss."

"And what did we start with?"

"A kiss."

"Either way, in about-" Arthur momentarily halted his speech to glance over at the ticking clock placed firmly on the wall in front of him. "Thirty seconds we'll be kissing."

"I mean, if we continue from where we left off, we're gonna see how sturdy that desk is. The other way is just a plain old kiss." Alfred explained, about ready to pounce and officially claim Arthur as his.

"I prefer the latter. Besides, things can't become officially until it is consummated."

Luckily for both of them, Arthur's back was facing the oak desk he normally sat behind the entire school year-for both English courses Alfred had taken. With small steps, Alfred was stepping forward and forcing Arthur to step backwards; until the elder's backside hit the brown desk. "Yeah we better get to work then."

* * *

One year had drifted on by as Alfred and Arthur were starting their relationship up again. In the first two months, Alfred graciously moved on in into the Kirkland's apartment. Three months after that, both Alfred and Arthur had begun their epic search of finding a house for Peter to finish growing up in. Four months after that, they entire family began packing up for their big move-their pockets empty of cash from the payments they placed on their dream home-and saying goodbye to the landlady with many heartfelt thanks within those farewells. Add on one more month, and all the boxes were unpacked and the Jones-Kirkland family was ready to start anew.

Arthur discovered a new job at a university close to their new home, of course as an English professor who disses American literature and his preferred method of torture is Shakespeare and James Joyce. Peter was enrolled in his first kindergarten class, and made some newfound friends that would occasionally swing on by for a sleepover where Arthur was restricted from making them healthy snacks. And Alfred reeled himself in a job in his father's business, starting midway up the cooperate ladder with a paycheck he couldn't complain with and of course having his hour lunch break over at the university with Arthur.

Things were rolling along smoothly, the home they stumbled over being the one Alfred envisioned whenever he daydreamed during class. The room dedicated to being a shared office between Alfred and Arthur, the chalk drawings on the driveway courtesy of Peter, the white picket fence boxing the house in, all that was missing was a yapping dog-however, Arthur didn't want such a mutt running amok around the house all over his sparkling clean floors.

Now here lies Alfred, in his cozy bed alongside a snoozing Arthur, the past year registering in his mind. He frowned and smiled at certain memories that flashed before him: when Arthur allowed him to move in, Peter's mother swinging on by one more time to spit in Arthur's face before never popping up again, every Saturday morning watching Peter's face light up whenever his favorite superhero came on, and when Alfred presented a ring to Arthur in the comfort of their own apartment-in the bathroom to be exact when Arthur was preparing to leave for night classes.

Alfred felt Arthur's breaths brush down his chest as well as felt those blonde locks tickle at his jawline. His fingers glided over the wrinkled fabric concealing Arthur's back. His blue eyes were glued to the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep, his eyes tired yet his body was still hyperactive. He's been wide awake since Arthur and Peter fell asleep three hours ago. But now he wouldn't be alone, since Arthur was stirring himself awake as he rolled out of Alfred's embrace having his back face Alfred. After the Englishman was fully awake, he turned his head over his shoulder and noted Alfred's eyes staring dully at him. "How long have you been up, love?"

"I dunno."

"Ever since I've been sleeping?"

"Yeah."

Sighing, Arthur placed his arm underneath his pillow and placed the side of his head against the grey object. "Thinking again?"

Stretching his arms above his head, fingers laced together, Alfred replied with. "Mh-hm. It's kinda fun looking back at the past year. Hell, two years."

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Arthur retorted with. "What? Thinking about how I narrowly lost my son?"

"I kinda just gloss over that now. It's fun looking back on us. Y'know?" Alfred relaxed his body, as he placed both his arms behind his head.

"Hm... Like how you used to come over for tutoring sessions? Listening to me drone on and on about Prince Hamlet."

"Nah. More intimate stuff."

"Oh, when we figured out my desk wasn't entirely sturdy, and I told my boss one of my students had to have defiled my workspace?"

Alfred chuckled quietly to himself, taking into account the thin walls and how Peter's room was right next door. "Yeah, like that." He closed his eyes. "Y'know, 'cause of you I missed out on bein' a college kid."

Arthur violently turned his head over his shoulder once more, a glare to those green eyes. "Oh shut it, you git. You choose to waste your time with me."

"I know. I'm thanking you."

Arthur's gaze softened. "What for?"

"You and lil you are the best things that I accidentally found. It was illegal for some time, but I'm glad I broke the law."

The Englishman rested back down on his pillow, this time flipping onto his other side so he could face Alfred. "It's been a year and a few months since we've been together, and you bothered to tell me this now?"

"Better now than later."

"Would've been beautiful the night we first moved in. You sense of dramatic effect is atrocious."

"It's nice to see you still like criticizin' me."

"Shut it you bloody git, and get some sleep."

 **AN: This isn't the end quite yet. I've decided to write an alternate ending where Arthur loses. But for those of you wanting a happy ending, I guess this is goodbye. It's been a pleasure writing this story, and I sincerely hope you all enjoyed every last second of it. I have another UsUk story in the works right now as well. Farewell everyone!**


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